


ii: Not Every Love Burns

by Mikkal



Series: Waiting for Time to Run Out [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual!Barry, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentions of Suicide, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, OT3: Westhallen, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Romance, Sexual Violence, Sexual assualt, Slight torture, Stalker, a little bit of language, injuries, like it goes into detail asexual, past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkal/pseuds/Mikkal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Iris, Eddie, and Barry finally together, things are seemingly going pretty well. Except, Barry still has issues with how his sexuality comes into play in their relationship and he has a terrible, damaging secret he's been hiding from everyone since before even his coma. </p><p>The CCPD is holding its own secrets and soon, the secret Barry's keeping and this one are going to collide in the most painful way for the Flash.</p><p>And then Barry is abducted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“I want to carve our initials_

_in the bark of everyone who ever hurt you.”_

—a softer world: 1210

  **i.**

            Barry trudges into the apartment building, eyes burning and back aching. It’s been a long week of metahuman criminals and regular ol’ human criminals. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a vacation, it doesn’t even have to be a long one. Hell, just two days and let him take a trip down to Coast City—no super powered douche bags and he could hang out with Hal, a non-powered douche bag.

            “Barry!”

            He bites back a groan, reminding himself that he _likes_ their landlady. She hadn’t even blinked at his sudden appearance in Eddie and Iris’ lives and she’s probably aware of the extent of their relationship. She’s just, she’s always so chipper and it’s grating when he’s had a bad week like he has.

            He turns around, hoping his smile doesn’t look as tired as he feels. “Mary, what’s up?”

            She smiles at him. “This was in my mailbox, but it’s addressed to you.” She holds out an envelope with his name on it in familiar handwriting, his stomach clenches

            He takes it, ignoring the shake in his hand and hopes she does too. “Sorry about that.” He salutes her with the envelope, going for a charming grin and hopes he succeeds. “Won’t happen again.”

            They part ways then. He debates opening the letter, though it will probably say the same thing the others have, and options for just stuffing it in his pants pocket instead of reading it. Hopefully the fact that Mary gave it to him means the sender doesn’t know what apartment number he lives in now, and he’d like to keep it that way.

            In order to do that, he takes the stairs instead of the elevator. He doesn’t know if the sender is in the main lobby, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He couldn’t do that to Iris and Eddie.

            He drops his keys on the table near the door, hangs his jacket on the hook, and throws his bag onto the couch. The boots Iris wore this morning when she left the apartment are in the living room and Eddie’s wallet on the island in the kitchen, and, not to mention, the bedroom door is closed. Barry grins and knocks three times on the door before heading to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Or two.

            Barry is finished with both and halfway through a book (reading at normal speed, _thankyouverymuch_ ) when Iris and Eddie come stumbling out of the bedroom, sex-ruffled and grinning. Eddie’s wearing just sweatpants slung low on his hips and Iris is wearing one of Barry’s sweaters, too long and covering her hands, reaching mid-thigh.

            “You’re home late again,” Iris says as she wraps her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek to his shoulder blade. She doesn’t sound mad about it, it’s a well-known fact that Barry arrives late and leaves late. “If your captain still piling on the cold cases?”

            He sighs. “Yeah. He is. I don’t mind too much, I’ve figured out a few of them and Detective Johnson has made some arrests. But he when he calls for an updates, he’s still doing that thing that when we hang up he immediately calls Joe or Eddie,” he dips his head in the other man’s direction, “to tell one of them there’s a case or something instead of me even though I have to be there ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s like he’s completely blowing me off.”

            Eddie makes a small noise at the back of his throat that causes them both to glance up at him. He has a sheepish look on his face and he automatically goes to adjust his belt before he realises he’s wearing sweatpants.

            “You know something,” Barry accuses light-heartedly. Eddie’s expression is too open and light for him to be hiding something really bad. “What is it?”

            “It’s not really anything particularly huge,” he hedges. “…I promise.” Then he deliberately says nothing more, too busy pulling down box of cereal and a bowl, completely forgetting the fact that their dinner date is in two hours.

            Barry grins and gets up to walk around the island to stand next to Eddie, who turns around so they’re chest to chest. He lets his grin grow into a smirk and he presses a hand flat on Eddie’s stomach then drags his fingers up. Eddie’s breath catches and his eyes go kind of unfocused, Barry can’t help but laugh.

            “Stop playing dirty,” Iris calls. “It’s not fair.”

            “It’s not?” Barry glances back at her with an eyebrow raised and a smirk.

            The tables are turned when Eddie grabs his hips and pulls him flush against him, kissing him soundly that leaves Barry breathless when he pulls away. This time Eddie’s smirking at him, one hand on the back of his neck.

            Barry huffs a laugh. “Okay, fine. Don’t play dirty.” He pokes Eddie in the chest. “But you are going to tell me what’s going on.”

            He sighs and pulls away to run a hand through his hair. “Captain Singh thinks there are dirty cops in the department.”

            “ _What_?”

            That…that is not light at all and completely bad. What the hell?

            “How long have you known?” Iris asks, probably realising the same thing Barry has. That in order for Eddie to be so good at lying about it, he’s had to know for a while now.

            “Only a few days,” Eddie says. “And I don’t mean to throw him under a bus, but Joe’s known longer. I don’t know how much longer, though.”

            Barry frowns and goes back to sit down, choosing the other bar stool since Iris stole his. She wraps her arm around his and puts her hand on top of his hand, tangling their fingers together. Eddie gives him a look, wide eyed and puppy dog.

            “First thing: you still can’t beat my puppy look,” he says lightly, hoping to earn a laugh. Thank God, he succeeds. “And second: I don’t understand how Singh thinking there are dirty cops translates into him giving me cold cases and giving me the, er, cold shoulder.” He taps the cover of his book. “Unless…I haven’t told anyone I’m working on cold cases. You guys, Joe, STAR Labs, and Singh. Johnson doesn’t even know, he just thinks he’s getting easy cases.”

            Eddie nods. “He’s been giving you a mix of cases the suspected dirty cops have worked on and other miscellaneous cold cases.”

            “Why didn’t he just tell me this?”

            This is when Eddie rubs the back of his neck and tries to adjust his belt again. “He thinks one of your techs is dirty.”

            Barry lays his free hand flat on the counter and takes a deep breath. “I believe that.” He has to, there’s been a few times through out the years where evidence has been mysteriously tampered with. There’s a difference between tampering enough for a case to be completely thrown out and tampering enough to turn it into a cold case. It’s only because of his efforts more weren’t just thrown out.

            “Who do you think it is?” Iris asks.

            He shrugs. “It’s between Jack and Steve. They’re both equally suspicious and not.” He gets up to toss his book on the couch and hug Eddie tightly. He wraps his arms around the other man’s waist and feels warm arms around his shoulders. “I’m not mad. I promise. If anything, this can be considered pay back for the secrets I’ve kept.” He feels more than hears Eddie chuckle. “Now, come on, you two. You still look like you both just got done having wild sex. We’ve got a public outing in an hour, you could at least look a little presentable.”

            Eddie laughs out loud and kisses him again, gentler this time. Barry lets himself melt against him. Then he makes the mistake of brushing his fingers along his bare shoulders as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck. The other man shivers, makes a breathy moan, and pulls him closer. Barry feels him move, growing hard against his thigh and he feels a mix of discomfort, unease, and nervousness suddenly trickle down his spine.

            He flinches away, but tries not to go too far. The tension in the room skyrockets and Barry has to swallow the guilt wanting to claw up his throat. Eddie’s eyes shoot open, wide and apologetic.

            “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

            Barry shakes his head and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be,” he says equally quiet. “Go get dressed. I’m starving.”

            Eddie leaves to the bedroom and Iris gives him a kiss before she follows him. Barry watches them go, the guilt still churning. He knows, _knows_ that they’re okay with, well, with _this_. They’ve told him over and over again in the last couple of months that sex is not a requirement for this relationship.

            But, he feels like he’s _missing_ something, something important. There’s a chunk of this relationship that he can’t experience with Iris and Eddie and he feels like an intruder on their easy camaraderie.

            He pats a trembling hand to his pocket, hearing the crinkle of the envelope. He pulls it out and opens it. He totally shouldn’t do this; he doesn’t need to know what they say he can already guess. They’ve been getting worse since he had started spending less time at his apartment and they really stepped up a notch when he moved out.

            The shower turns on and Barry glances over to make sure Iris didn’t decide to come back. The thought of the both of them in the shower together makes him swallow, the longing coming back. He shakes his head and turns his attention to the card in the envelope.

            And it’s an actual card to, crumple but he’s not too sad about it. The front is some sort of joke and the inside is the punch line. It’d be funny if he didn’t feel like he’s going to be sick. The note is sprawled on both sides and it goes into graphic details. His stomach rolls and he presses a hand to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut but the words are burned into his mind’s eye already.

            He hears the sound of a dresser drawer snapping shut and footsteps. He shoves the card back into his pocket, his heart thudding. Iris smiles when she appears and she wraps her arms around his neck.

            “We’re still working out the kinks, aren’t we?” she says quietly.

            He hugs her around the waist and buries his face in her shoulder, partially for comfort and partially to hide how shifty he probably looks. “It’s a biological factor. He has no control over it. I know this, but I can’t help it.”

            She threads her fingers through his hair. “You’re out of practice with relationships,” she says. “And you’ve had bad experiences with people who knew about what you liked and didn’t like and didn’t even begin to respect that. Eddie may not be perfect, but he’s trying. He really likes you, Barry.”

            “I really like him too,” he mumbles. He laughs against her shoulder. “I really like you too, Iris.”

            Iris laughs with him. “Aw, Bar’. I like you too.” She kisses the side of his head then slaps his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to change as well? Eddie’s almost done.”

            He pulls his head up with grin at her before he takes off in a whirlwind run, passing Eddie coming out of the bedroom and finishing getting ready and shoving the card in a hiding place before he even makes it to the kitchen. Eddie blinks at him when he catches sight of Barry leaning against the island, no longer wearing jeans and a nice shirt, but slacks and an even nicer shirt.

            Barry grins and tugs on his jacket to pull him closer. Eddie hesitates a brief second that feels like an hour to a speedster like him, but does finally slide chest to chest with him. He raises a question eyebrow, but Barry doesn’t get him a chance to say anything, just presses a kiss to his lips.

            “Let’s go, shall we?”

            Iris is between them and she hooks her arms through theirs, leading them out of the apartment. The tension among them is still a little high, so when she starts talking about Mason Bridge’s newest antic in trying to get her to look into the metahuman outbreak and that her mentor seems to be looking into Alva Tech for a reason he refuses to tell her it's a welcomed relief and eases the tightness in his shoulders.

            They’re half way down the block when Barry’s phone rings. He hangs his head and groans. That’s the ringtone he put Cisco’s number under and he _knows_ it’s date night. It’s been the same damn day for the past month. If he’s calling for a treadmill exercise again he will run him out into a middle of a field and make him walk back.

            “Hold on a second.” He gives them an apologetic look and digs out his phone. “What’s up, Cisco?”

            “Metahuman on Wellington,” Cisco says in a rush. “They have hostages.”

            Barry glances at Iris and Eddie. “Why haven’t the police responded?”

            “It’s in the old Lawrence Hills residential area, the one that they had to evacuate because of the industrial waste? Apparently a big block party was arranged there. There’s no cell reception there, the waste puts off too much interference.”

            He groans again and runs a hand through his hair. “Give me two seconds.” Then he hangs up.

            “What’s going on?”

            “Eddie, you need to call Singh,” he says. “A metahuman has taken a block party hostage. Text Cisco for the address. Iris—.”

            “I’ll go to STAR Labs.” She nods and touches his elbow as he gears up to run. “Be careful.”

            “Aren’t I always?” he says with a cheeky grin. He kisses them both and takes off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take this space/time to let everyone know that I'm asexual, and the 'write what you know' in terms of Barry's asexuality is in full effect. 
> 
> If you have any questions you can write them in the comments or you can PM me on tumblr which you can find in my profile.

**ii.**       

     “ _Stop.”_

            Barry squeezes his eyes shut and slams the back of his head against the bed, his hands scrabbling for something to grip. Iris swallows and lets him all but crush her hand, her bones bruising. Eddie is on his other side, holding his arm down to keep him from rolling off the bed and away from Caitlin’s hands.

            “Stop, stop,” he repeats desperately.

            “I know, Barry,” Caitlin says, her tone is pitched low and soothingly but there’s an undercurrent of stress and panic that Barry probably doesn’t hear but Iris does. “But I can’t stop. It’s going to be much worse if your leg heals in the wrong direction, I’d have to re-break it then.”

            He whimpers, turning his face towards Iris and tries to curl his shoulders in but Dad keeps them steady. She runs a hand through his hair and keeps it there for comfort.

            “Just breathe,” she says softly. “It’ll be over before you know it. Just _breathe.”_

He takes a deep hitching breath, holds it, and then takes another that’s a bit steadier. His eyes flutter open and Iris gives him a wobbly smile. _That’s_ when there’s a sickening crunch and Barry howls in pain, thrashing his head side to side. His arm slips from Eddie’s grip just enough that he starts rolling; Iris braces him against her chest, holding his head against her neck. She can feel him hyperventilating, hitches in his breathing that makes her want to cry.

            Barry shudders in her embrace then goes lax. She glances down at him and sighs in relief. “He’s out,” she announces.

            There’s a collective sigh. Dad shakes his head, letting go of Barry’s shoulders and running a hand down his face. “I swear I didn’t raise you guys to be this stubborn.”

            “We learned by example.”

            Stress-filled laughter comes at odd intervals from everyone in the room. Iris gives them a tight smile and rolls Barry onto his back, straightening his arms so they’re not flopping everywhere. Caitlin gets the brace for his leg and straps it on, tightening the buckles enough that it makes Iris wince.

            Eddie brushes Barry’s hair back before dropping in a wheeled chair and sliding over to Iris’ side. She takes his hand gratefully and leans against him, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her. She’s never going to get use to Barry being hurt, nor is she going to get use to Barry getting hurt then having to be fixed with no pain killers and no relief except the looming unconsciousness that doesn’t always come at the opportune times.

            This hadn’t even been a metahuman’s fault. It had been a suicide jumper that the Flash manage to catch two feet from the top of the building _after_ she jumped. Barry threw himself off the ledge, grabbed her, and tossed her back to the top where the police were waiting. The only thing that kept him from dying himself is the momentum of his running somehow lessened the impact to the point that he got away with a broken leg, a few broken ribs, a pretty bad concussion, a broken nose, and a whole lot of bruises and scrapes.

            “I don’t know if I can do this,” she murmurs as quietly as she can, closing her eyes and pressing her nose to his arm. “I don’t know if I can watch him in pain every week, every day.”

            There’s a hand touching her cheek then cradling her head against him, it’s an awkward position but it’s comfort all the same. “I know,” he says, equally quiet, “but it’s not like we can stop him, can we? You said it before, he’s a hero.”

            She breaths out, not quite a sight, but an attempt to let go a few of the heavy emotions crowding her head. He’s a hero, all right, but at what cost?

 

**iii.**

            The music from a nearby club is so faint the beat can barely be heard over the wind in the trees and the cars, but Barry and Iris are swaying arm in arm anyway. Eddie’s off to the side, the biggest smile on his face you’d ever see, and Joe’s on the park bench, enjoying the sight.

            It’s one of those few family night outs. It use to be only Joe, Iris, and Barry, but Eddie got dragged into it when he decided to start dating _both_ Barry and Iris. They had dinner first, then a movie, and it’d been bright enough that they went for a walk in the park as well. It kind of reminds him of when Iris was younger and his wife was still alive, their daughter between them and holding both their hands as they swung her up and down until she got distracted by a squirrel, or the swings, or Barry running toward her from the other directions with his parents trying to keep up.

            He suppresses a melancholy sigh and just watches Eddie sweep Iris into a dance of their own. Barry steals Eddie away and gets dipped for his troubles. He lets out a surprised laugh, his cheeks burning red, but allows Eddie to twirl him after he’s righted up. The three of them link up and they make their way over to Joe, opting for the grass instead of bench.

            “You’re children,” he tells them, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

            Iris tosses a handful of grass at him in response and Barry sticks his tongue out. “Takes one to know one, dad,” she says.

            “ _Excuse me_?”

            “What she probably means, Joe,” Eddie says, cutting in almost smoothly except for a small stammering slip up. “Is…”

            And he gets a face full of crushed flowers. The _children_ jump to their feet and take off, laughing hysterically. Joe rolls his eyes and follows them at a slower pace.

            Jesus Christ.

            They really are going to be the death of him.

 

**iv.**

            He hasn’t gotten another letter in two weeks. The longest he’s ever gone without at least one card is one week—the week he did continuing education in Coast City—and the nine months he had been in a coma, though Cisco had mentioned off-handedly a while ago that he received periodic flowers that no one knew who they came from. They might not have been a card or letter, but they meant the same thing.

            Whoever they are, isn’t going to stop.

            Barry drops his pen and cradles his head in his hands, sighing. Jack should be here within in the next twenty minutes and then Barry can leave, go home, curl up in bed, and pretend that these last three years haven’t been the most stressful in his entire life. Two years of being a metahuman, and one year before being stuck by lighting is when the cards first started appearing.

            He’s no closer to figuring out who it is than he is to figuring out who killed his mother, and isn’t that the worst/most pathetic thing ever?

            Vacation, isn’t that what he wants? A freaking vacation?

            At the same time, he really doesn’t want to go home. Iris and Eddie are both going to be there already—as seems to be the case _every time_ —and he doesn’t mind that, he really doesn’t. It’s not his fault he only had techs to cover the rest of the day when he’s not here and it causes a huge up roar whenever he takes more than one day off (okay, it is a little bit his fault, if only he were so good at his job, right?).

            No, his problem is the sex. He thought he was okay with them doing the do when he’s around, the door closed of course, but he doesn’t know how to react when they come out of that room, sex-ruffled and obviously not too spent on energy most of them time. One wrong move, even if in his head it’s not a wrong move, and their already heightened arousal hits that peak. And every time he’s thrown, uncomfortable.

            They don’t mention it unless he does and they don’t follow up on whichever physical response they get, though they’ll sometimes disappear a little bit later. He thinks, maybe, the tension and unease probably kills the mood most of the time.

            Both Eddie and Iris are absolutely gorgeous, separate and together, and he it frustrates him to no end that he doesn’t, can’t feel sexually attracted to them. Hell, since college he’s been borderline sex repulsed, but even before that sex has never been on the table for him.

            The thought of something being off— _wrong—_ about him has never popped up like this before, he’s been pretty assured with his place in the world when it came to this. For the longest time his asexuality has been, had been the only thing he’s been sure about himself and this sudden switch of viewpoint kind of makes him just want to hide in a corner and cry.

            Then again, he’s never had a serious relationship like this before? Maybe he just needs a little bit, take a few deep breathes, and everything will feel normal again?

            He hopes.

            Barry picks up his pen again, taps the end twice on the desk, before he goes back to the reports that are a day late. Singh gave him a one-day extension, but that’s it. If he doesn’t get them turned in before he leaves he’s screwed.

            Good thing he has super speed.

 

**v.**

            “Okay, you have to keep your eyes closed.”

            Iris laughs. “They _are_ closed. Barry, you’re killing me with the suspense. What is it?”

            He doesn’t answer, just keeps his hands on her shoulder and steers her around a corner. The wind is cool on her face and there are night birds chirping in the distance. Barry murmurs ‘one step up’ and soon they’re walking through grass, the blades tickling her ankles.

            “Almost there.”

            Her heart is racing and the excitement that had been steadily growing in her chest rises to her throat. Barry pulls her to a stop and she can feel him move around her.

            “Wait until we say so then you can open them.”

            “Okay,” she says quietly.

            He moves away and she can hear a rustling noise that’s not trees or grass. She curls her fingers over the hem of her sweatshirt, suddenly nervous.

            “Open them,” Eddie says, an obvious smile in his voice.

            She does, and is greeted with the sight of Barry and Eddie sitting on a cliché red and white-checkered blanket, dinner spread in front of them, and numerous lamps scattered around. Iris presses her hands to her mouth, completely overwhelmed. It’s been _years_ since she’s told Barry about her dream date, as cheesy as it is, and she doesn’t think she’s ever ended up telling Eddie since things like dream-dates, dream-houses, dream-families, and the like haven’t been brought up.

            (— _yet_. She has a feeling they’re going to start popping up soon.)

            “It’s perfect!” She practically bounces over to them, sitting down in the only free spot and stretching out her legs. “How did you—?”

            “Barry told me about it,” Eddie says, pouring her a glass of wine and pulling out the first course of their dinner. It’s pasta with her Dad’s homemade sauce and meatballs. “And I figured this was the perfect time. It’s been slow at both our jobs and the metahuman count’s been low for the last few days. Might as well take advantage of that and relax.”

            “And you just jinxed us,” Barry says. “Way to go, Eddie.” He takes a sip of his wine and laughs when Eddie flicks a crumpled napkin at him. It misses by a foot. “I thought you were the best shot in the precinct, Detective Thawne?” he teases. “That was pathetic.”

            “I’ll show you pathetic,” Eddie growls. He hands Iris her plate and then more-or-less tackles him, snaking his hands up Barry’s shirt to tickle him mercilessly.

            Barry tries to squirm away, but he’s laughing too hard to even talk let alone move. Iris takes this opportunity to pour Eddie’s wine into her glass, leaving his empty. Eddie pauses, glances at the empty glass then at her, eyebrow raised.

            “Don’t you even think about it,” she warns. “I’ll spill this and that’s a waste of perfectly good wine.”

            “Next time.”

            “’Next time,’” she scoffs, grinning. “Uh huh, keep telling yourself that.”

 

**vi.**

            “Barry!”

            This week is going significantly better than the last time Mary called his name, but that doesn’t make it anymore welcomed. Especially since he can pretty much guess what she wants and, sure enough, when he turns around she has an envelope thrust out to him.

            His shoulders curl to his ears as he takes it. “Thanks, Mary,” he mumbles, shoving it into his bag. The small rolling disgust churns in his gut, but the small relief that they still don’t know what apartment number he lives in makes it easier to deal with.

            She puts a finger. “Hold on.” Then she disappears for a few minutes. Barry shuffles his feet and tries not to look too anxious. When she reappears she has a small box in hand. “This came for you too, with the letter.”

            That probably explains the two-week gap. The relief he felt dissipates in an instant. He takes it reluctantly, closing his eyes briefly.

            “I don’t know why you look so down,” she says off-handedly. “If I had a secret admirer like you, I’d jump for joy.” She leans in, a conspirator’s grin on her lips. “Miss. West, Eddie, and your secret admirer. What’s your secret?”

            He gives her a tight smile—telling himself that she _doesn’t know._ She doesn’t know that the cards and letters started out innocently enough—congratulations on closing a case, you’re looking gorgeous today—then escalated to, not threats per say but details of what whoever it, what they’d like to _do to him_. God, just thinking about it makes him sick. “Just lucky, I guess.”

            Barry takes the stairs again, a habit after the first time. Besides, it’s faster with his speed than taking the elevator. Inside of heading inside, though, he stops outside the door. He’s never gotten a box before. Flowers, letters, cards, yeah, but never a box.

            He uses his keys to break the tape and when he opens it he drops it to the floor like he’s been burned. Newspaper clippings of him as the Flash, as himself for those few times people managed to get close enough to snap a photo of a crime scene or he was present for press conferences. Both his identities, both sides of him…           

            He scrambles for the card, nearly dropping his bag like he did for the box. It’s the same graphic detail as before but this time his _speed_ is incorporated.

            “Oh God,” slips from his lips before he presses them tight, biting the inside of his cheek.

            He picks up the box with shaking hands and almost drops it again. What…what the hell is he suppose to do? He can’t keep the box in the apartment, the only reason Iris and Eddie haven’t found the letters and cards already is because he keeps them in a case file made up to look like it’s part of his mother’s (as much as it pains him to do that).

            He could…he could just _tell_ them, though. They’ll be pissed. Beyond pissed. Even more than they were about keeping the whole metahuman ‘I am the Flash’ thing a secret. But they, they wouldn’t leave him over that, would they?

            That’s a crippling thought. Coupled with the ingrained idea that no one would ever believe he, of all people, has a stalker makes telling them a whole lot less appealing. That ingrained notion is what kept him from saying anything in the first place three years ago. And after going your entire life being dismissed and not believed in doesn’t mean it’s automatically cured when you _are_ suddenly believed. It doesn’t work that away. The negative year far out pace the positive at this point.

            He can’t keep the box. Without another thought he zips away to the coast then pass the coast onto the water, under the bridge out into the open. He dumps it then and there and makes it home with a second to spare.

            The card is clutched tightly in his palm, an almost casualty as well. But he can’t get rid of it, especially with the niggle that he _could_ tell someone. He would have proof then.

            ( _You already_ have _proof._ Three years _of it.)_

 

**vii.**

            Iris may not work at Jitters anymore, but she goes often enough she’s gone from head barista to café mascot and still gets employee discounts (and probably will until a management change). Which is, you know, fantastic. She’s here alone this time, Barry’s at STAR Labs and Eddie’s at the CCPD. She plans to work on the Flash article Mason assigned her and try really, _really_ hard to make sure it doesn’t seem like she might know the Flash personally, like she’s dating him personally.

            Which is why, when she turns away from the counter with coffee in hand, she’s shocked to see Felicity sitting there, waving awkwardly.

            “Hey!” she greets warmly. “What are you doing here? Barry’s at STAR.”

            Felicity smiles. “Actually, I came looking for you.” Her eyes widen ever-so-slightly. “Not that I came _here_ , to Jitters, looking for you. Barry said you got a job at Central City Picture News—congratulations by the way. No, I was gonna get coffee them head over to CCPN looking for you. I…don’t have your number?”

            Iris has to laugh at the babble. She and Barry are quite the pair. “We should probably fix that, shouldn’t we?” She sits down across form her and they switch phones. Felicity’s background is of her and a man she kind of, sort of recognizes. “Is that Ray Palmer?” How many celebrities does she know?

            A brush crawls its way up her neck. “Maybe,” she mumbles. She doesn’t elaborate and Iris doesn’t make her. Instead, she gesture’s towards Iris’ background of Barry with his eyes squeezed shut and a giant smile on his face while Iris and Eddie give him dramatic kisses on either cheek. Her dad took the picture during a family dinner. “How’s that going?”

            Iris lets a dreamy smile appear. “Fantastic.”

            This time Felicity laughs. “Barry seems happy—beyond happy, actually. You do too.” She pokes her hand teasingly. “You’re practically glowing.”

            She waves a hand. “Psht. Let’s not talk about me. What made you come all the way to Central without a moment’s notice?”

            Felicity wraps both of her hands around her mug but doesn’t lift it to take a sip, just stares at the liquid inside. “I just wanted someone to talk to,” she says softly. “Laurel is training with Nyssa. Thea is…complicated. And Lyla is busy with ARGUS and she’s not so easy to just _talk_ to.”

            Iris reaches out and takes her hand. “Of course you can talk to me,” she says. “I have nothing planned.” Well, see does, but seeing the heartbroken and lost look on her face is enough to make her put it off for another day. “What’s wrong?”

            She sighs. “A lot of things, but I think it’s been building for a while now.”

            “I’m a open ear.”

 

**viii.**

Eddie comes home to an empty apartment. He tosses his wallet on the island and grabs a glass to pour himself some tea, he’s about to take a drink when he freezes. There’s something…off about the place. He sets the glass down slowly and dips into the junk drawer to pull out his civilian sidearm. He snaps a clip in and with his thumb near the safety, ready to flick it off, he toes around the apartment.

            He’s not entirely sure why he thinks something is off, but there is. It feels like someone else other than him, Iris, and Barry has been here in the last seven hours. The stacks of DVDs and books on the coffee table are in the same position, he’s pretty sure, and the pictures are straight on the wall.

            It’s not until he gets to the bathroom that he notices the medicine cabinet is open and his meds are knocked over. They’re never left knocked over— _ever._ Even when Barry knocks into them in his uncoordinated way, he always rights them up because it’s a well-known fact Eddie is _paranoid_ about anyone messing with them. If they’re straightened afterward then he can at least pretend everything is okay.

            Eddie sets his gun on the counter and grabs the bottles, popping them open and counting each one. He knows exactly how many he’s taken and how long it’s been since he’s refilled them, they’re all there. It’s the sort of relief that makes his knees a little weak.

            His search for anything else off takes him from the bathroom to the bedroom. A few days after Barry officially moving in they invested in a larger bed, it makes the free space a little less, but Iris managed to convince him to move some things into the small room he made into a office a while ago when he first moved to Central.

            The sheets are in a tangled mess, as they usually are when Barry’s the last one to get up. The combination of being a restless sleeper on bad days and the nightmares on worse days tends to do that. Prim and proper on top of the highest bundle, though, is an envelope with Barry’s name on it.

            Eddie frowns and steps slowly into the room, glancing around for anyone possibly hiding in the corners. When he decides there’s no one in the room or the apartment he reaches for the envelope. The handwriting is recognizable, but not as Barry’s.

            He could open it or he could not. It’s the idea that someone was _in their home_ that makes him carry the letter back into the kitchen. He empties the gun and puts every piece away slowly, stalling for time. There’s a heavy feeling in his gut about all of this.

            Opening it, breaking the seal on that envelope, would be a crack in the trust between him and Barry, a trust Eddie’s worked unbelievably hard to gain since he’s woken up from his coma.

            And anyone who is willing to break into an apartment of a cop just to leave a letter means the letter can’t contain anything good. He’s had experience with these sort of things, not personally but a few cases scattered here and there, and they never end well.

            He slides a letter opener through the paper and pulls out a ‘get well soon’ card. Eddie frowns. What the hell? Yeah, it’s true Barry had been yet again injured by a metahuman last night, but this time he only had superficial scrapes and only six other people knew about them. He opens the card and a picture drops out, one of him and Barry at Jitters greeting Iris and Felicity from when the woman visited a week ago. Barry is the sharp focus of the whole photo, the rest of them blurred out to the point he only knows what’s going on because of Felicity’s bright pink dress. It’s disturbingly candid.

            The actual writing in the card, on the other hand, goes beyond disturbing. Eddie has to fight the urge to simultaneously be sick and punch someone in the face. He knees go weak and he drops against the counter.

            _Oh my God._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long delay! RL got in the way big time and I may have had a few breakdowns. So this chapter is a little longer than usual to make up for that. And there's a few surprises in there for you!

**ix.**

It’s raining by the time she gets home and she’s soaked when she walks in the door. Iris wrinkles her nose in disgust, sliding off her coat and hanging it on the hook. She checks to make sure it’s not actually dripping then tosses her purse on the table and heads into the living room. Eddie’s there, sitting on the couch with a beer on the coffee table and his head cradled in his hands.

            Her first thought is ‘migraine’ and the question ‘Did you take your meds?’ is on her lips before she realises the lights are on and he’s on the couch, not in the bedroom where it’s easier to make dark, and he’s halfway through that beer. He barely even acknowledges her when she walks in, just lets out a deep sigh when she presses her hands on his shoulders.

            “What’s wrong?”

            He doesn’t say a word, just hands up a wrinkled ‘Get Well Soon Card’ and a photo. She reads the card slowly, her heart beating faster with each word. Iris wanders around to the front of the couch on unsteady legs. She can’t tell if she should be sick or if she should just break something—preferably that something being this creep’s face.

            “What the hell is this?”

            “I don’t know,” Eddie says, and, God, he just sounds so tired. “Iris, it was on the bed when I came home. They were in our apartment.”

            She collapses on the couch next to him, the card slipping from her fingers to the ground. “Did they take anything?”

            Eddie shakes his head before pausing then shrugging his shoulder. “I don’t think so. They rummaged through the medicine cabinet, knocked over my anti-depressants and migraines pills, but nothing’s missing. I haven’t looked through Barry’s stuff yet, it’s most likely they took something of his considering the card.”

            “Does Barry know?”

            The look on Eddie’s face isn’t even remotely close to comforting. “Yes, without a doubt. People don’t start writing that graphically, it’s a process.”

            “So he’s been getting these for a while now, hasn’t he?”

            “Yes,” he says simply.

            Her eyes burn, tears threatening to spill over. “I thought we were going with no more secrets?” She shakes her head. “I need a beer.” She pats on the knee and gets up, heading to the fridge.

            She pauses just inside the kitchen, eyes going to the shattered vase on the floor. It’s one Eddie’s mother got for them when Iris moved in, a sort of house-warming present, and it’s always been on top of the cabinets. “Babe, what happened?”

            Eddie comes up behind her. “I got angry,” he admits.

            She glances from the vase to the high ledge it use to sit on. Not exactly a prime location for rage outbursts.

            He shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later. I promise. Let’s get through with what’s going on with Barry.”

            Iris bits her lip and wraps her arms around herself. “Will you?”

            “Hey.” He’s in front of her now, cupping her face with his hands. “I promise, okay?”

            She’s halfway through a bottle and they’re on the couch, knees touching and in silence, when the lock clicks and the door opens. Barry comes stepping in, dropping his bag on the floor and shrugging out of his jacket. His hair’s wet, ruffled like it is when he runs, and his cheeks are flushed.

            “Honey, I’m home!” he calls. He falters when he sees them on the couch, a frown appearing. “What’s wrong?”

            Eddie heaves himself to his feet. “I’d like to say first, I wasn’t snooping. You know I don’t do that.” He pauses for Barry to nod in agreement. “It was on our bed.” He scoops the card off the table and holds it out to him. “Whoever it is, they’ve been in our home.”

            All the color drains from Barry’s face and he wobbles, his knees buckling slightly. “W-what? Are you sure?” he asks in a small voice. He doesn’t take the paper, just stares at it in horror. “Here? In this apartment? In our _bedroom_?”

            Iris takes a step forward, reaching out for him as he starts blurring. He looks like he’s going to fly apart at any second. “Barry, calm down,” she says gently. “You’re vibrating.”

            There’s a flash of lightning and he’s gone. She fears, for a moment, that he’s bolted out the door, but the sound of retching coming from the bathroom tells her otherwise. Eddie drops the card on the coffee table, his own face paling at the distress rolling off Barry in waves.

            “I know I said this has been going on for a long time,” he murmurs. “But this…I don’t think we know the extent.”

            “How could we?” she says. “He never told us.” Which, finding out why he never told them even though they promised no more secrets, comes second to getting Barry to relax and calm down.

            She pulls off the fluffy couch blanket and heads to the bathroom. Eddie peels of to head to the kitchen so when she makes it to the bathroom she’s alone. Barry’s hunched over the toilet, his forehead resting on his arm and his shoulders trembling. She bundles him up the best she can without jostling him, taking a quick peek in the bowl to see it empty. And she didn’t hear a flush between him retching and her walking over.

            “Have you been eating?” she asks, brushing the hairs on the back of his neck.

            He groans. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he knew where I lived. I thought I was being careful enough. He’s been giving letters to Mary. I thought he didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

            “Hush,” she says, crowding a little closer. “Barry, just breathe. We’ll talk about this when your stomach’s not trying to break out.” He lets out a harsh bark of laughter at that.

            “Here.” Eddie hands her a damp towel, a bottle of water in hand. He sits on the floor, leaning against the tub. “Singh’s been keeping him pretty busy with the cold cases on top of everything else,” he says causally. “His eating schedule is a little erratic. The protein bars Cisco cooked up do their job of getting him energy, but it’s not really enough.”

            Of course Eddie would know this, he sees him not only at home but at work too. They’ll have to talk to the captain to see if they can figure something out. She folds up the towel and places it on the back of Barry’s neck, he sighs in relief. He always runs hot nowadays; he’s probably—or not just probably considering the sigh—feeling claustrophobic and overheated.

            Barry sighs again, less in relief and more in resignation, and shifts back, dropping the lid over the toilet and leans against the wall with his eyes closed. The pressure keeps the towel on his neck and Eddie shoves the water bottle into his hand.

            She waits a full minute, letting him get collected and take a sip of water, before she asks, “How long?”

            His lips twist into a frown and he glances at her then the wall. “Three years. February 14th, 2012. Their idea of a joke, sending the first one on Valentine’s Day.”

            Eddie gasps and Iris gapes at him silently. She swallows thickly and leans back. There…there are no words. Three fucking years?

            “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” she asks. “Dad? Singh? Hell, maybe even Oliver when you found out he was the Arrow. He could’ve done something. You saved his life, kept his secret, and you’re his friend, he owed you.”

            Barry shakes his head, curling in on himself. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says quietly. “He wasn’t suppose to know where I lived. I was extra careful this time around because of you guys.”

            “Did—.” She stops, takes a deep breath, and asks cautiously, “Did you think we wouldn’t believe you?”

            _“Yes_ ,” he says, desperate and hysterical. “ _Of course_ I’d think you wouldn’t believe me. Fifteen years have been a constant non-stop of people not believing me. And who the hell would believe Barry Allen, fuck up extraordinaire, would have a _stalker_? A stalker pathetic enough to send me cards and letters, and flowers when I’m in a _coma_ , and one who’s smart enough to figure out where I live and that I’m the fucking Flash! Of course no one would believe me, even I find it impossible.”

            He gasps a rasping breath and presses his face against his knees, pulling his hair with his fingers. “No one ever believes me,” he sobs.

            “Hey, hey,” Eddie says, shuffling closer to pull Barry into a tight hug. “We believe you. They’re all going to believe you. With everything’s that happening they won’t have a choice. And I know you think Singh hates you, but he doesn’t. I promise.”

            Barry shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. Iris presses her fingers against her eyes. Why? Why does this happen? Especially to Barry. No one deserves something like this—a _life_ like this.

            His phone rings with Cisco’s tone—the _Ghostbusters_ theme song—and Barry jerks away from Eddie to fumble for the device. “Cisco,” he says, voice rough. “What’s up?”

            It’s loud enough that Iris can hear ‘Blacksmith,’ ‘got her,’ and ‘Network.’ She wants to ask him to stay, to let them finish talking about this, to not go out in a fight with his emotions high, but she can’t. He’s the only superhero in the city, and if Cisco is going straight to Barry then it must be big. And if she did hear ‘Blacksmith’ right then it is, in fact, really big.

            Barry hangs up and shakily gets to his feet. “You can come to STAR Labs,” he says, sounding drained. “But there’s not going to be much information, the comm. unit has to be turned off before I head into the building holding the Network this time around.” He grabs the back of his neck and shuffles his feet. “There’s a extra box with most of the copies of my mom’s case,” he adds. “That…that has all the letters I’ve gotten in the past three years, minus the one still on the coffee table.”

            “Barry—.”

            “I’ll call you when it’s done,” he says quickly.

He presses a kiss to her lips, successfully cutting off anymore of her protests, and gives Eddie one too before dashing out of the apartment. She watches him go, Eddie sliding an arm around her shoulders.

“I didn’t realise how bad it was,” he murmurs.

“What do you mean?” Her voice is wobblier than she wants it to be. “Are you talking about his breakdown about people not believing him? I know what you mean. I always knew he had a bit of a problem about it.” She huffs out a non-humourous, bitter laugh, wrapping her arms around her middle. “You should’ve seen his face the day he woke up. We were walking, I was asking him to keep our relationship—yours and mine at the time—a secret when this car comes out of nowhere. He disappeared and when he came back, Dad started shouting at him for putting me in danger.” She rolls her eyes, like it was Barry’s fault. “Barry tried telling him it was Clyde Mardon and Dad just went off on him, tearing down every belief he had about his dad and that he just needed to _stop._ He was just so heartbroken when he walked away and Dad barely looked regretful at the time.

_(“—of course you don't believe me, you never did believe me.”)_

            “But I believe him,” she says. “Don’t you?”

“No doubts,” Eddie says firmly. “I think I have the advantage over everyone else of only knowing Barry for a little bit. To me, his blog about the impossible was just a quirk and nine months later there’s metahumans on the street. You had the advantage of being child when it happened and Barry probably told you more about than night than anyone else. Of course I believe him, about anything and everything.”

Iris puts a little more weight against him before pulling away and marching into the bedroom, throwing open the closet doors. There are three file boxes and she doesn’t know why she never thought of it before, from what she can remember there was never enough to fill two boxes, let alone three.

            “This one.” Eddie slides out the box on the bottom of the stack. “The numbers look right, but it’s not anything registered in our system, the other two are.”

            He pulls off the lid and all they can do is stare at the number of paper in it. Her hand shakes as she picks one up, shifting around to grab one from closer to the bottom. There’s a date on it from July 4, 2013 in Barry’s handwriting, his name in someone else’s. She opens it to find a Fourth of July card, the contents are relatively tame compared to the card still sitting on the coffee table, but that doesn’t make her feel any better.

            “He sent a ‘May the Fourth be with You’ card,” Eddie says, not even bothering to disguise his disgust. “So far one for every year, Barry’s got them rubber-banded together.”

            Iris drops the card in her hand with equal disgust on her face. “Let’s leave these until we can talk to Barry more,” she suggests. She doesn’t want to touch them again, but if tonight was the first real glimpse of what Barry feels underneath the goofy smiles and nerd knowledge, then they’ll have no choice. If anything, she wants to convince him to talk to Singh _tomorrow._ “I know he said the comms were going to be off, but let’s head over to STAR anyway.”

 

**x.**

            Barry knows he must look terrible, if the twisted expression on Cisco’s face means anything when he stopped by STAR before heading out to the Network. Caitlin tried to stop him before he left, but he didn’t hear any of it. Wells had been strangely quiet. He just wants to forget about everything at the moment and focus on taking down the Network, a black market organization that has their fingers dipped in everything.

            Really, the person who should be going after the Network is Batman, but considering a metahuman is in charge of it then it’s Barry. Which is why he called for a team up, one Bruce had been grudgingly willing to comply (and Barry knows it’s all posturing, if Batman had to choose between the Flash and the Arrow he would go for the Flash. He hasn’t figured out why, yet, but he’s interested in finding out.).

            He skids to a stop in a small town a hundred miles from Gotham, the night doesn’t cover up his lightning very well, but if he concentrates enough he can make them fade to just little flashes. Barry goes for the top of a building with an old water tower he knows isn’t in use anymore. It only takes a few minutes before he catches a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye and he knows Batman’s here.

            “Hey, Bats, what took you so long?”

            There’s silence from the other man and Barry sighs. “Hey, I’m switching to the other frequency,” he tells the trio back at the lab. “I’ll switch back when it’s done.”

            “Be careful, Barry,” Wells tells him grimly.

            He switches to the frequency Batman set up for the two of them and the Dark Knight inches closer. The older man opens his mouth to say something, but Barry suddenly gets the feeling he doesn’t want to hear it.

            “Where’s Robin?” he asks quickly.

            Bruce frowns. “Math homework,” he replies simply. “You should come by tomorrow, help him work on his chemistry project. He’ll love it.” He doesn’t give Barry the chance to respond positively because he goes on to say, “What’s wrong?”

            Barry frowns back at him. “What makes you think something’s wrong?” Bruce just stares at him silently. He can’t see his eyes behind the white lenses of his cowl, but he can tell the man’s glaring at him. “Life sucks,” he mutters. “That doesn’t matter. We’ve got the Network to take down, don’t we?”

            “You’re avoiding the question,” he says. “We’ll come back to it.” It’s almost like a warning.

            He knows if he goes to the Wayne Mansion to help Dick with his chemistry project he won’t get out of answering Bruce’s questions, but he also knows Dick will be heartbroken if he says yes then no. He could go to Singh tomorrow morning, tell him everything, then go to Gotham in the afternoon—when Bruce asks again he can tell him it’s all taken care of.

            Batman shoots out a grapple and swings to the other building. He takes a deep breath and runs after him. Apparently there’s something about him and people who work on teams but would still rather work alone. He’s use to people using him for knowledge he has and now speed. He’d been hoping Oliver would be the only one—at one point he’d hope he was the exception—but now he gets the same feeling from Dr. Wells and this is the first time he and Batman have teamed up (second, but still against the Network and Blacksmith) and it’s only because of the metahuman in charge.

            What was it again? A vacation?

            (Blacksmith hadn’t even _been_ at the Network in three weeks. They hit another dead end.)

 

**xi.**

            David has worked hard his entire life to get to this point: a fantastic job, reliable co-workers (well, most of them), an amazing fiancé who he absolutely loves, and the respect of most higher ups in the city considering _he’s_ the one that has to deal with this metahuman problem directly.

            One of his big hitters—or _the_ big hitter—sits in front of him now, his hands clasped together and looking everywhere but at David. Barry Allen has always been a strange man, even when David knew him as a child. Joe would occasionally bring his daughter and foster son to work, usually on community days, and Barry always ended up upstairs with all the lab equipment and the head CSI at the time, Andrea Spivot. He had such a sharp mind for someone who shouted about impossible things.

            Now he knows which of them were wrong in the end.

            “What is it, Allen?”

            The kid sits a little straighter in the chair, but still won’t look at him. Ever since David told him he knew he is the Flash he’s been a little more confident around him. This is a direct switch; he’s back to shy, nervous Allen again. “I need to open an investigation.” He swallows thickly. “In-house and quiet, preferably between the two of us and Eddie.”

            David frowns, a deep-seated concern curls in his belly. “Barry.”

            He disappears for a split second before he’s back, standing next to the chair and holding a case box. “I have a stalker,” he says in a rush. “I don’t know who it is. They’ve been doing it for three years.” He sets the box down and presses his hands to his face in a familiar gesture. “I was all set to ignore it, let him do his creepy thing. But…he broke into our apartment last night,” he says hoarsely. He finally meets David’s gaze and his eyes are wide in fear. “He knows I’m the Flash.”

            David’s own eyes widen, but he doesn’t get a word out because he’s still rambling, babbling at this point. Joe had approached him only a few months ago when he found out David knows Barry’s the Flash and he’d told him to keep an eye on him, every protective father instinct in full effect. Contrary to what Barry might think, David has never hated him. Yes, the kid annoyed him, sometimes to the point that he just wants to dope slap him, but he’s never hated him. He doesn’t give someone he hates the almost sole responsibility of weeding out dirty cops—even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it—and he definitely doesn’t keep someone he hates as his sole/top CSI with only two lab techs.

            Hell, he’s been entertaining the idea of hiring someone else just to help Barry out. It’s the idea that the new hire would give him a little less stress and more free time to do Flash related activities, not just dealing with the metahumans plaguing Central City (and now Starling City if what he’s heard is correct) but also the rumors in Gotham, the sudden appearance of a super powered individual in Metropolis, and talks of a foreign dignitary who is an Amazon.

            Andrea’s daughter is old enough and far enough in school to get an intern job here, he’s pretty sure Barry will like Patty.

            “Barry,” he says sharply, just to get his attention. When he does he softens his tone. “We’ll figure it out. The only limitations are that there’s only going to be three of us.”

            He covers his face with both hands, sagging against the wall. “Knowing Iris she’s going to call someone from Team Arrow to help out. I just hope she doesn’t try to get the actual Arrow involved.” He drags his hands up into his hair then cups the back of his neck. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. That was never my intention when I kept it from everyone. It was only suppose to be between me and him.”

            “I believe you, Barry,” he says.

            Those seemed to be the key words because his shoulders hunch and tears slide down his cheeks. His muffles a sob with his hand and wraps an arm around his middle, bunching his shirt under a fist. David can’t help but sit there in frozen shock, completely unprepared for this sudden burst of emotion. There’s only a few facets of Barry’s personality he’s aware of: goofy, nerdy, focused, and stoic shock at a few of the worst crime scenes that leave even the most seasoned cops pale faced and heaving.

            This might sound shitty, but maybe he should set him up to see someone? But who’s qualified to help a metahuman? Maybe in a few years, but he’s not to sure Barry has a few years left.

 

**xii.**

            It takes Iris a little bit to realise why her skin is crawling. She freezes at the doorway of the apartment and glances around the open space. This is the first time she’s here alone, or even for an extended period of time since Eddie and Barry won’t be home for a few more hours. She and Eddie fell asleep at STAR Labs last night and all three of them only had time to rush home, shower, change, and grab a bite to eat before rushing to their respective jobs.

            She didn’t let it hit her then, but now she does: someone broke into their home. Not just someone, someone who’s been viciously stalking Barry for _three years._ They messed with their things, invaded their privacy. Her drawers had been tossed through and they touched Eddie’s medication. She has no idea how far they will take any of this and she has no idea if they’re coming back.

            Iris secures her purse over her shoulder and backs out of the apartment; making sure to lock the door even though she’s not sure it’ll work. She doesn’t stop moving until she’s in the car and halfway to Jitters. She pulls into a sparsely filled parking lot and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

            This is a sign, it has to be, they’ve been getting a little cramped in Eddie’s bachelor pad, and maybe this will be the trigger for them to find their _own_ place. Somewhere with an extra actual bedroom when Barry gets overwhelmed by the two of them. She’s seen him struggling; she knows he’s unsure about everything. This is his first real relationship with people who respect his sexuality, she can’t quite understand the struggle, but she’s going to damn sure make it so he becomes more relaxed and confident.

            None of that’s going to happen with the stalker still out there.

            She grips the steering wheel tightly. Iris isn’t sure if she can stay in the apartment anymore. She feels violated in a way that’s completely unfamiliar and unflinchingly unwanted. The only other place she can think of is staying at her dad’s, but she’s not sure she wants to subject Barry to his overprotectiveness, especially since she’s fully aware of Barry’s tenuous relationship with her dad’s belief in him.

            Iris takes a deep breath and digs out her phone. (They could always go to a hotel?) She knows Barry well enough he’s only going to talk to Singh, not Oliver or Felicity or even Batman (who, apparently, is close enough to Barry that he knows who he is. This time he’s not telling anyone and Iris really has to wonder where the hell he meets these people and how). So, she’s calling Felicity herself.

            It takes two rings before the woman picks up with a cheery, “Hi, Iris!”

 

**xiii.**

            Oliver keeps one ear on Felicity’s conversation with Iris; the other half of his attention is focused on sparring with Roy. The younger man is fast and twisty, almost catching Oliver every now and then. If it weren’t for the fact that Oliver has had longer and more brutal training beaten into him and that he’s been training with Roy long enough to recognize moves, he’d be down for the count by now. Especially since Roy’s being pragmatic and aiming for his bruised ribs like the little shit he is.

            At Felicity’s horrified ‘ _what?’_ they both stop and turn their attention to her. Dig moves from his seat at the monitors and Laurel puts down the book she’d been reading on the stairs. Oliver frowns at the expression on her face, and that frown only gets deeper when she holds the phone out to him with shaking hands.

            Barry hasn’t talked to him since he kicked Oliver out of his apartment. He’s talked to Roy, Felicity, Laurel, Dig, and hell, even Thea. But he hasn’t answered any of Oliver’s texts or calls. He’s not entirely sure why Iris West wants to talk to him now, but it can’t be good.

            “Iris.”

            “Oliver.”

            He walks off the mat and grabs a bottle from the fridge. “Is something wrong?”

            “We need your help,” she says. “Barry’s not going to like it, but he can get over it. He’s not in the right mind frame to be thinking clearly. He didn’t even want to tell us— _us_. So, here I am, telling you.”

            “Telling me what?”

            “Barry has a stalker,” she states simply with no fanfare. “He’s had one for three years now.”

            Oliver freezes mid-swallow and coughs harshly, the water burning down the wrong pipe. “What?” He looks up to meet Felicity’s gaze, her eyes still open wide in horror.

            “He’s going to his captain now about it, but that’s all he’s going to do. That leaves only four people knowing and only four people isn’t going to solve this. Especially with three of those people trying to weed out dirty cops at the precinct. I want you guys to help.” She pauses, breathing heavy. “Can you take a couple days off in Starling and come to Central?”

            He answers, without any hesitation, “Yes.”

            She hangs up a minute later and Oliver tosses Felicity her phone. He takes in his team and sighs before explaining everything Iris told him. Rage immediately darkens Roy’s expression, he knows how close Arsenal and the Flash have gotten, and he’s happy to tell him that he’s coming to Central with him.

            “I’ll stay behind,” Laurel says, standing and stretching in a way that Oliver knows what she’s thinking. That’s the stretch of the Black Canary trying to look casual, but really wants to beat the shit of out someone. It’s a dangerous movement. “I’d rather go with you, but I can already guess the plan some. Dig matches the looks of a federal agent and you need Felicity to help analyse the letters.” She grins. “A girl can handle the city on her own.” Her grin goes to a full-blown smile when he wraps her in a hug and presses a kiss to her forehead.

            “When do we leave?” Roy asks.

            He glances at him then to Dig and Felicity, his expression grim. “In twenty minutes. Pack up.”

 

**xiv.**

He’s halfway down the stairs when Steve comes rushing out of the lab, Barry’s coffee in hand. Barry smiles wanly, feeling drained, and thanks him as he takes if before heading to Eddie’s desk to give him a quick kiss and then out of the building. There’s still two hours left of Eddie’s shift and Iris’ ended three hours ago for a half day, so they all agreed to meet at Jitters at seven-ish then go off on a real date they promised not to cancel even in light of everything. Until then, though, Barry has some work to do and he’s going to use those two hours to do it.

He never got he chance to go to Gotham to help Dick, but he promised him the whole weekend instead. Iris’ cousins are suppose to visit in a few weeks and they have a kid around Dick’s age, now he’s wondering if bringing Wally to visit with him, give Dick a few friends his age and Wally’s plenty smart enough to match up with the boy genius.

            The walk from the precinct to Jitters is long enough for Barry to get his head on straight. He’s been on edge all day and he’s trying very, very hard not to just lose it right then and there. Singh had promised him he was going to figure something out, had even said he believed Barry. Just thinking about that conversation makes his chest tighten. He coughs and takes a sip of his drink.

            That first drink of his coffee has him recoiling, but he chalks the bad taste up to the fact that it’s three hours old, warm, and almost gone. In a desperate need for caffeine that probably doesn’t affect him anymore (much to his disappointment) he downs the last one-third of it in one go.

            This is a mistake.

            A few more blocks and his stomach starts rolling, his teeth water, and he swallows the urge to puke. He presses his fingers to his mouth, trying to make it look casual, but as soon as the world starts spinning he abandons causal in favour of staggering into a side street to retch, but nothing comes up. One knee hits the ground and he’s forced to lean against the brick wall.

            “Hey. You okay, man?”

            Barry looks up, his vision fuzzy around the edges and the face above him indistinct. He opens him mouth to say something— _anything_ , his brain a mass jumble of increasing pain, confusion, and fear—but all that comes out is a groan.

            “Definitely not okay.” Hands grip under his arms and haul him up with surprising strength until he’s standing somewhat steadily. Though, using a stranger as a crutch probably doesn’t count as steady. “Come on, let’s get you some help?”

            Barry tries to push him away, but nothing works, he’s too weak and shaky to do anything. It’s not until he’s being shoved into a van that his vision clears for a split second and he gets a good look at the man’s face.

            Officer Carmichael. John Carmichael. He’s on the list of potential dirty cops. Barry renews his struggles to get away from him, the other man swearing loudly when his foot catches his stomach.

            “Damnit, the dose wasn’t strong enough.” He grips Barry’s ankles and yanks him _hard_. His head smacks against something metal and he’s dazed. “Give him the shot. It better work.”

            There’s a shadow off to the side before there’s a sharp pinprick in his neck. A whimper escapes his lips before he can stop it and then darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little peek at my other Flash project (not related to this series):
>
>> She’s in History of Magic when a student comes rushing into the room straight to Professor Lance, the woman is a seventh year obviously and her face is flushed and she looks like she’s been crying. Iris frowns along with everyone else, leaning forward to try and hear the hushed conversation better. She jerks back when the professor meets her eyes and dread pools in her stomach, heavy and thick.
>> 
>> “Miss. West, please get your things and come up here.”
>> 
>> Iris stuffs her notebook into her bag and slings it over her shoulder, curling her fingers around the strap nervously. Professor Dinah Lance’s expressions are usually blank, with only a glimmer of excitement when she teaches and pride when a student exceeds exceptionally well, but now, she just looks sad and sympathetic. 
>> 
>> Her tone is low when she says; “There’s been an incident in Defense Against the Dark Arts.” 
>> 
>> She suddenly finds herself struggling to breathe, Hufflepuff has that class with Slytherins right now, oh God. Barry, Eddie? 
>> 
>> “Barry is in the Hospital Wing,” the professor continues. “You have permission to leave class early.” There’s a pause. “I’m sorry, Iris.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're delving into uncomfortable territory, fair warning. If any of the warnings in the tag worry you, this is where they start. I don't think I'll get more graphic than what's in this chapter ( and it's not very graphic to begin with), but if I find myself doing so I will update the tags and warn you before anything happens.

  **xv.**

            Iris pauses with her coffee at her lips and checks the time again. Eddie should be here any minute, but Barry should’ve already been here. He’d told her he was going to get some work done at Jitters before their date, if he had any intention on running to Starling for something she’d know because he’d be calling to tell her no one was there and how weird that was. (to which she would reply ‘wow, you’re right, that is really weird’ and feel bad for lying.)

            After she’d called Felicity and talked to Oliver she headed to her Dad’s place to grab a quick shower, just to feel clean even though she sat behind a desk all day minus one adventure that involved a fire the Flash came to the rescue for. With Barry’s help the raging fire died in ten minutes and the worse anyone suffered was smoke inhalation and a stuffed pony got first degree burns that can be easily patched up. She’d barely been close enough to smell it, let alone get covered in ash.

            It had been walking into that apartment alone that did it.

            She raises a hand in a wave when Eddie walks in. Even from here she can see him glance around the shop, his eyebrows furrowing in that adorable way. He’s looking for Barry and is not finding him.

            “Okay, he can’t be late if he’s suppose to be here two hours ago,” he says. “Where’d he go?”

            “I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I kinda expected a text, but if he’s running he won’t send one.” She waits until Eddie takes a seat before she says, “I called Oliver. Him, Roy, Diggle, and Felicity are coming tonight.”

            Eddie winces. “Oh, he’s not going to be happy about that.”

            “I didn’t really have a choice,” she argues. “He won’t tell the STAR Labs teams, he won’t tell Dad. I figured they were far enough away physically, but close enough emotionally that it’d be a good idea.”

            He puts his hands up defensively then covers hers with his. “I’m not saying it was a bad idea. I’m just saying he won’t be happy. But he’ll understand..”

            They wait another ten minutes. Iris tells him more about her mentor’s increasingly bizarre bribes to get her to investigate STAR Labs.

(“ _He seems to think something’s up with Harrison Wells.”_

_“Maybe he’s not wrong?”)_

She sees the exact moment the worry gets too much for him, and it about levels out with hers as well, and she starts digging out her phone, her hands shaking. Barry being two hours late like this, it’s…it’s unusual nowadays and terrifying—literally only a day after finding out about his stalker and just when aforementioned stalker gets into their apartment he disappears like this?

            “I’ll call him,” they say at the same time.

            Eddie flashes her a tight smile, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You first.”

            The other line rings and rings until it rings out. Iris doesn’t even bother leaving a voice mail. She watches Eddie call, feeling sick to her stomach. What if this had happened when they didn’t know about the stalker? What would she think then? Maybe the dirty cops got to him, maybe he rushed out to deal with a metahuman or a regular criminal and someone finally got a lucky shot? Even now there’s so many things that could’ve happened.

            This cannot be happening.

            He shakes his head as he hangs up. “Try again. If he doesn’t answer we’re going to Singh.”

            She nods, pressing her lips together in a thin line. The other line is ringing again and she hopes with all her heart he will answer. Just _please_ answer.

            _Click_. “Hello?”

            “Barry!” Her heart leaps in her chest and Eddie jolts in his seat, eyes wide. “Where are you?”

            “…I’m not Barry? Uh, my name’s Sebastian. I found this phone on the ground?”

            Her eyes sting and her throat burns. “Where?” she chokes out. Eddie raises an eyebrow and she shakes her head, resisting the urge to cry. “It’s not him,” she tells him, he sinks low into his seat with a pale face. To the stranger—Sebastian—she says: “Where did you find the phone?”

            “Er, in the alley way next to the Jitters coffee shop? I was on the patio when I heard it ring.”

            She looks out the window to see a tall guy with an uncomfortably familiar phone to his ear. She’d recognize the Captain Marvel case she got Barry years ago anywhere. “Stay there,” she says. “I can see you. I’m _inside_ Jitters.”

            His head jerks around and he stares wide-eyed at her. She waves and he waves back hesitantly.

            “Who’s that?” Eddie demands even as he gets up. “Why does he have Barry’s phone?”

            She distractedly reiterates the entire phone conversation, dodging a customer and brushing past Saira even when she asks if everything’s okay. Her attention is on the guy with Barry’s phone, the guy whose expression is getting more and more alarmed as she comes closer.

            “You must be Iris?” Sebastian asks when they make it outside. He seems even more freaked out when he catches sight of Eddie’s pinched, angry expression. “And Eddie. I found it when you were calling, but it rang out.” He holds out the phone. “Here.”

            Her name is still up for Call Ended _. [Iris <3] _because Barry is a dork. Eddie’s is _[Eddie <3.]_

“Thank you,” Eddie says. He takes it and inspects it for any damage, slipping into ‘Detective Thawne’ mode.

            Sebastian nods. “I hope everything works out,” he offers. He calls someone’s name, and a guy walks up, wrapping his arm around his waist, and the two of them walk off, heads bowed together.

            Iris watches them go. “Stalker?” It wouldn’t be the first time a stalker tries to get involved in their own case, of course her frame of reference is mostly television shows and they were never stalkers, but it’s the same principle, isn’t it?

            Eddie shakes his head. “No. I don’t think he’s it.”

            “I’ll call Oliver,” she decides. Iris hesitates a brief second before she takes the phone from Eddie and unlocks it to pull up Oliver’s number. She types it into her own phone, saving it for future use. “You drive?”

            He nods. For a brief moment they just stand there, Iris close to tears and Eddie’s eyes looking a little watery as well.

            “We’ll find him,” he says softly. He pulls her into a hug, her face tuck tight against his shoulder. “I promise.”

            She clutches him as close as she can without letting go of either phone. “Of course we will,” she says. “And whoever, whatever, took him is going to be very, _very_ sorry they ever decided to mess with us.”

            “Damn straight.”

 

**xvi.**

            They’re forced to take _another_ pit stop when Oliver waves his hand from the front of their two motorcycles and a car procession. Felicity forces herself to take a deep breath when Dig pulls the car in behind Roy at the gas station.

            Oliver pulls of his helmet and presses his fingers to the Bluetooth in his ear. “Iris,. Iris, slow down, I can’t understand you.”

            Oh, that makes sense. As tech savvy as she is, she can’t clear up the connection between Oliver’s Bluetooth while on a motorcycle and someone on the other end speaking too fast to understand even face to face. She’s often at fault for the talking too fast aspect. Maybe it’s about time she got Ray in on developing something? He’d be more than happy to—ecstatic even.

            “ _Iris_ ,” he says again, firm in that way that makes it seem like he has everything under control. “Say it a again, but slower.” There’s a pause before his eyes widen. “Are you sure?—Okay, we’re literally only four hours away. We should hit Central at around eleven. Three, if we’re careful enough with our speeding and the cops. We’ll meet you straight at STAR.—Just breathe. We’ll see you.”

            “What happened?” Roy demands when Oliver hangs up.

            Oliver takes a breath. “We’re too late,” he says. “Barry’s been taken by someone we don’t know. His phone was found at Jitters so we can’t track it.”

            “I can get traffic cams to find out who and when,” Felicity says, her voice shakier than she’d like it to sound. Luckily, everyone here is fully aware of how emotional she can get, Oliver’s even said he appreciated her loose control. It made everything seem real. “And what vehicle it was.”

            “Track down to see if anyone bought large quantities of drugs or poisons,” Dig adds. “Since our last visit—the one where we had to deal with Prism?—I’ve been talking to Caitlin and Lyla about the capabilities of the Flash. In order to subdued him it’d take a huge amount.”

            Felicity rubs her eyes, pushing her glasses up on her forehead. She’s so glad she had the foresight to not wear makeup on this trip. “I can start on some of that on our way there. I can’t access the traffic cams of Central City all the way from here, but I can track online purchases and credit card use. I’ll ping a few known sedatives and such.”

            “With that settled, let’s move out,” Oliver says. He pulls on his helmet and waits for the rest of them to scramble into place before revving his bike.

            Felicity adjusts her seat and pulls out her laptop. She checks to make sure the watch Ray gave her is still working so she can use the Wi-Fi, then she gets to work. Mid-type she pauses, her vision going a little watery as everything catches up.

            “He’s going to be okay, right?” she asks out loud. She could be technically asking Dig, but she doesn’t want to look at him in fear that he’s going to say no.

            “Of course,” he says. “This is Barry we’re talking about. He doesn’t always think things through, but he comes out the winner in the end.” She glances over at him to see a reassuring smile pointed in her direction. “Have faith, Felicity. A lot of weird things have happened, but him getting through this, whatever it is? Not weird.”

 

  **xvii.**

            STAR Labs seems more like a funeral than the headquarters for the fastest man alive and his team. Cisco stands in front of the monitors and tries his very best not to snap his phone in half as Iris and Eddie keep talking. His phone vibrates and he glances down at the text from Laurel telling him everything’s going to be okay.

He’d like to believe her, he would, but she wasn’t woken up at ten o’clock after a long day of coordinating FEMA with Wells and screening calls from other STAR Labs in the country wanting their equipment and him and Caitlin to work for them. Apparently being part of a devastating event didn’t diminish the scientific comminutes need and want for the two of them—it’d be flattering if it were for the fact that co-founder Garrison Slate also called to tell him that he and other co-founder Robert Meersman were going to visit next month to discuss options. Which, you know, fantastic news most of the time, not fantastic when they have a inhumane metahuman prison in their basement and another metahuman working with them to bring down bad guys.

So, yeah, bad day made ten times worse when Eddie called him and demanded he come down to STAR Labs right away. When he got there him and Iris were already in the cortex, Caitlin was sitting down and fiddling with her tablet, Dr. Wells was in the middle of the room looking grim and pensive, and part of Team Arrow was there too.

And now he’s learned about Barry’s stalker and he feels like his legs aren’t strong enough to hold him. He sits down next to Caitlin and she automatically reaches out to grab his arm, her fingers digging into his skin.

“What do we do?”

Felicity steps forward, coming around the desk and pulling up another chair. “I got no hits when I went for online purchases of high quantities of anything except wood. Turns out your mayor is building a guest house.” She rubs her eyes before settling her fingers over the keyboard. “Barry’s phone was found in an alley next to Jitters. I’m going to check CCTV and traffic cams to see if I can find him. That’ll give us a place to start. Cisco, I could use an extra pair of hands.”

He jumps at his name, but nods. Something to do, something to help. He can’t even find the words to make a joke or even a off-hand comment that’s not meant to be a joke but still somehow manages to be funny. This is not that time.

“Dig’s going to head to the CCPD with Detective Thawne,” Oliver says. “He’s going to play FBI and see if there’s a connection other than the stalker. You said you had dirty cops.”

“You think it could be them?” Iris asks.

Oliver shrugs. “Could be, I don’t want to risk it. You said Barry was practically investigating on his own and as smart as he is, something could’ve given him away. Maybe one of his techs. Roy and I will stay here for when Felicity finds something.” He glances toward Iris then to Caitlin. “When we get him back we might need Dr. Snow around. Iris—.”

“I can be in one of two places,” she cuts in firmly. “Here or the CCPD. I’m not useless and I’m not going to be treated useless.”

He shakes his head. “I was going to suggest you go to the Picture News, see if you can find any resources Felicity could use to help her narrow down who the dirty cops are or any reports of people claiming they have stalkers and the police did nothing. It might narrow that down too.”

She presses her lips together and doesn’t look happy, but she nods away. “Fine, but I’m coming right back here.” She nods to Eddie and she wraps an arm around his waist, his arm around her shoulder and they leave with their heads bowed together. Dig isn’t far behind.

“And what will you have me do, Mr. Queen?” Dr. Wells asks.

Cisco can’t help but jerk his head up at that question; it sounded dark and mocking at the same time. Surely Dr. Harrison Wells didn’t just ask a question in that tone? It sounded like…like he doesn’t _care_ , like this is all just some trivial thing that he shouldn’t have to pay attention to. He’s _never_ heard words tainted like that from him before.

He glances at Caitlin to see if she got the same thing and her wide-eyed expression she quickly smooths out is answer enough. He jumps when Felicity touches his other arm, bringing him back to the monitors. He looks at her and sees her shake her head then type into the database search bar ‘ _this is not the time. Later_.’

Oliver’s obviously not impressed when he says, “Nothing. I have nothing for you to do than to help Cisco and Felicity.” He shrugs. “Sorry.” Except he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“Very well, Mr. Queen.”

Just what the frak is going on?

 

**xviii.**

His shoulders have gone numb and his head is heavy. Barry rests his chin on his chest, he has no energy to open his eyes let alone lift his head. It feels weird, feeling so sluggish and slow after so long of everything behind fast, even his heart beat and his thoughts. Whatever drug he had been given, it’s either still in his system or it’s been long enough since they shoved him in that van that his energy reserves are tapped out.

The door creaks open and footsteps come shuffling in, a startling difference compared to the heavy boots from before. He’s had a steady trickle of visitors, each cop apparently wanted to lord over him that they took him out of the picture instead of him locking them up. Yes, exactly what he needs, more affirmation that he’s fucked up.

            “Oh, look at you,” a voice breathes. His brows furrow, it sounds _so_ familiar. “Seven hours in _their_ clutches and you still look beautiful.”

            Soft fingers touch his chin, lifting his head and holding it even. His eyes widen in shock and he lets out a weak, “ _Steve_?”

            Steve Palmer—Steve, his techie, notoriously late even by his standards, ends up in Singh’s office more often that not—smiles and runs a hand through Barry’s hair, he flinches at the contact. The other man says nothing, seemingly content with tracing the tips of his fingers along the lines of Barry’s face and throat. He pulls down the V-neck of his shirt, stretching it out and letting it hang loose.

            “What are you doing?” Barry asks hoarsely. He wants to pull away—no, he wants to run away, but his speed, his control, has abandoned him. “Steve, _stop_.”

            “Why would I? I’ve been waiting years for this moment.” He waves his free hand dismissively. “Okay, not this _exact_ moment. I imagined you a little more willing, not to mention you were supposed to ask me out. Instead, I was forced to resort to _deals_. Do you know how annoying it is to throw out evidence for those fucking cops just so I could convince them to take you?”

            “What is _wrong_ with you?” Barry hisses.

            Steve frowns, putting his hand in Barry’s hair and gripping tight to yank his head back and expose his throat. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he says harshly. “There’s something wrong with _you_. Three years, three fucking years, I’ve putting myself out there for you and you never even noticed. You always had heart eyes for Joe’s daughter. Rose, or something. She never looked at you once until recently and you get with _her?_ I’ve been here this whole time!”

            Barry furrows his eyebrows in confusion, his gaze drawn to the ceiling. “You gave no indication you were into me, how was I suppose to know? I didn’t even know you were into met, you can’t expect me to assume something about you.”

            His head is yanked down and he’s suddenly staring into Steve’s wild eyes, a half-crazed light sparking in them. “Well, now you know,” he says softly, dangerously. “And now you’re mine.”

            “This isn’t going to work,” Barry says. “You know I’m the Flash, you know I have friends in high places. Iris and Eddie are going to find me.”

            The hand that has been resting on his chest this whole time suddenly moves, tracing down his stomach, the waistband of his pants. Barry swallows thickly and squeezes his eyes shut. Steve shifts and he leans in close, his cheek brushing Barry’s and his hot breath blowing on his ear.

            “When I’m done,” he murmurs. He chuckles. “When I’m done with you, you’ll never want to go back to them. I’ll have you wrapped around my finger. You’ll be begging for it.”

            There’s a spark in his chest, flashing in the corner of his vision. Barry grits his teeth and _slams_ his head to the side, knocking against Steve’s hard enough to send the older man stumbling back with a yelp. “Go fuck yourself,” he spits. “Cos I certainly won’t. I’m _asexual,_ Steve. Nothing you do will make me want you like you want me.”

            Steve clutches at his head, glaring at him. He pulls a fist back, but doesn’t strike out. Instead he says: “You can’t be asexual, you’re in a relationship. With two—,” he slams his fist into Barry’s stomach. It’s so sudden and unexpected, that Barry tries to bend at the waist and lets out a grunt. “Count them, _two_ —,” another punch. “—other people. That’s not asexual, that’s being a whore.”

            He coughs, air catching in this lungs. “You,” he sucks in a breath, “you can have a relationship without sex. It’s called romance, love.”

            Steve shoves a knee between his legs and Barry jerks back the best he can. “ _I_ love you,” he growls.

            “No you don’t,” he says, tired and weary. The spark of energy he some how managed to find to fight back for even a little bit is fading away. He doesn’t want it to, he wants it to come back and fill him up and let him fight. “You want to violate me. That’s not love, that’s sick perversion.”

            He turns away from Barry in disgust. “You’ll learn,” he tells him, almost fondly. “Until then…” And then he’s out the door, shutting it with a click that leaves Barry alone in the darkness.

            A moment later the AC kicks in a blasts him with cold air that chills him to the bone. Barry lets his head fall forward, his chin to his chest. His shirt is still stretched down and his head stings, the side where he slammed against Steve and the roots of his hair. He can still feel hands sliding down his body to his jeans and his stomach rolls.

            He squeezes his eye shut and suppresses a sob. Iris and Eddie will get him out of this, he reasons. This will be over in a couple of hours. They’ll realise he didn’t show up at Jitters at any point, hell he didn’t even make it within a block of the coffee shop, but they’ll realise and then call in the cavalry if Iris hadn’t already done it.

            But Steve said it’d already been seven hours, hadn’t he? Barry whimpers, how much longer will it be then?

            He breathes in through his nose, stuttering and short, then out through his mouth. In again, then out. It gets easier and deeper with each try. He has faith in them, he does, but he can’t hold on to the hope that the dirty cops and the CSI tech made it easy for them. If he works on it, maybe he can give them an easier time.

            It’s only going to get harder as time goes by and his energy reserves deplete even more, but he wills himself to tap into that spark once more. _Iris, Eddie._ His chest warms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you've probably realise that Arrow is super AU. Like, I know the Flash is too, but I'm making Arrow and the Flash AU from the same point. Oliver died and came back, but there's not much having to do with the LoA after that until Oliver meets Batman. Also, Team Arrow and Team Flash had a lot more interaction off the page in my story than what is implied in the show.
> 
> And I absolutely adore the fangirl that is Cisco toward Laurel. I will always hold that in high regard. Laurel needed it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: if you are triggered by sexual assault/violence, unwanted touching, and the likes, please be aware these sort of things are pretty graphically (by my standards) in this chapter.

xix.

Joe’s reaction to being the last person informed about Barry’s stalker and subsequent kidnapping had been surprising low key. Eddie dreads the moment when the two of them are alone. He doesn’t think the man will assault him—it’s a laughable thought that he would— but he’s always known he hadn’t been Joe’s first choice to be his little girl’s significant other and that it’s probably worse since he’s now one of two of his little girl’s significant others. He really doesn’t care too much about his approval (though it’d be really, _really_ nice to have), but he does care about Iris and what she wants.

            But when Singh hands him Barry’s box and the captain sits back down, leaving Joe and Eddie to walk out of the office to head to STAR Labs (Diggle stays behind to play FBI/Internal Affairs, he’ll look like either through the glass windows), Joe doesn’t say anything.

            “You’re really freaking me out,” Eddie tells him in the car, the box on his lap and his fingers tapping the lid. He freezes when he realises what he’s doing, that’s one of Barry’s nervous habits. “Say something?”

            He can see the muscle in Joe’s jaw jump. “I’m pissed,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “I’m pissed off that someone would _stalk and take_ Barry. I’m pissed Barry never told me. I’m pissed that I helped put Barry into the position to think he’d never be believed about this.” He glances over to Eddie. “And when I find who did this, they’re going to be pissed they were stupid enough to even _think_ this was okay.”

            Eddie grins faintly. “Save some for me and Iris, we call first dibs on tearing these people apart.” He looks out the window, watching the people go by. He sees Joe nod in approval in the reflection.

            There’s been this burn behind his eyes for the past few hours; tears that want to fall but he won’t let them. Crying isn’t going to help them find Barry soon, he’ll cry when they do and they’ll be tears of joy, relief, happiness.

            Somehow the Cortex seems even gloomier when he and Joe walk in. Iris isn’t back yet and Felicity looks like she’s about to cry. She has her head cradled in her hands and Cisco has a hand on her shoulder.

            “What’s wrong?” he asks.

            “I got nothing!” she exclaims, sounding so distraught. “I checked all the cameras and CCTV near Jitters, I even went out a block on each side and there’s nothing! I hacked into the CCPD’s files to check to see if Barry logged anything under the servers he only access to, not his techs, and there’s not an inch of information there. I don’t even think he did his own investigation into his own stalker. It’s like he just wanted forget he even had one.”

            Eddie grimaces when all eyes turn to him for that last part. “I’m not shocked,” he admits. “He’s pretty, I don’t know how to put it, messed up about it. He has this thing—.” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “It’s not something for me to talk about.” He gives Joe a significant glance and the older man looks like he might be sick, but nods. He drops the file on the table, taking off the lip, and tipping it over so the letters and cards fall out. “These are all the letters from this sicko. Our best bet is to organize them by date and go from there.”

            Oliver reaches out and picks one up to flip open and read. Eddie recognizes it as the one he found on their bed and feels again like he’s going to puke. The vigilante’s face drains of all color and his eyes widen. He glances up at Eddie as if he’s asking for confirmation that this is, in fact, real. Eddie nods before adverting his eyes, unable to put the hardened vigilante and the man who looks terrified for a friend in the same place in his mind.

            Caitlin gasps, reading her own letter. It’s dated March 2012 and he doubts that one’s as bad as the one Oliver’s got. Rory mutters a ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath and Eddie has to take the card away before the younger man rips it.

            “Before we do anything else,” Joe says. “Gloves. The ones we’ve touched so far are useless for prints, but hopefully the rest of them only have Barry’s and the stalker’s.” Something dark filters over his expression. “I bet Barry’s read every single one of them.”

            Eddie slams his hands on the table, everything on it rattling and causing Felicity, Caitlin, and Cisco to jump. He ignores the flash of blue in the corner of his eye, a static of color for his anger. He waves a hand. “Ignore me.” He takes a deep breath. “I need air. I’ll be back in an hour, meet Iris outside.”

            Without another word he turns heel and walks purposely out of the room, feeling eyes on the back of his head. And it’s not like he noticed Dr. Wells didn’t say anything about any of this. He swears to God, if Wells turns out as sketchy as Joe claimed him to be Eddie is going to punch the man in the face.

            He takes another breath. Okay, it’s just his anger getting away from him. Just breathe. He hears the rattling of the fence and turns around to see Iris approaching him, her expression grim and a manila folder in hand.

            “Anything?” he asks hopefully. He deflates when she shakes her head. “What’s that?”

            Iris shrugs. “I don’t know. Mason gave it to me before I left. He was trying to bribe me into investigating STAR Labs again, except he focused on Dr. Wells this time. Said all the information I needed was in here, but he had everything else.” She shakes her head. “It’s gonna have to wait. Where did dad park? I know he wouldn’t stay behind.”

            He leads her to the car park and she shoves the folder in the back pocket of the passenger seat, making sure to hide the color. When she pops back up he wraps her into a hug, trying to hold her as close as possible.

            “I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles, pressing his face to her hair.

            She clutches at his back. “We kick their asses?”

He nods. “We kick their asses,” he agrees.

 

**xx.**

The door opens and it takes Barry a terrifyingly long time to react. He doesn’t know how many times he can deal with those bastards coming in and beating him like he’s a middle school punching bag all over again. He knows these men are smart—despite all evidence to the contrary—the CCP’s hiring standards are pretty strict. He just doesn’t understand why they’re being so _stupid._ Is their entire plan based on Steve’s obsession with him? What, they abduct him and keep him around to punch and for Steve to play with while the CCPD closes in on them? They haven’t asked him how he figured them out, they haven’t tried to bribe or convince him in someway to help them, they haven’t even tried to threaten him into revealing who else knows. It doesn’t make any sense.

            “You know,” Steve says conversationally. Barry can’t help but flinch at just the sound of his voice, his nerves rubbed raw. “I should be upset they touched your face when I told them not to, but I think you look even prettier like this.”

            Barry bares his teeth at him, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth and tasting blood. “Oh, goodie. I’ve always wanted to look pretty for _you,_ Steve. My life is fucking complete.” 

            He laughs, swaggering closer. “You’re still fighting back,” he notes with glee. “I thought you’d be tapped out by now, weak. I haven’t fed you in forty, forty-three hours and I got someone to rig the A/C so it feels closer to a walk in freezer than anything else. I thought these were all weakness of the Flash? It’s a shame my research didn’t produce the results I wanted.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m just full of surprises.” He tries to take a fortifying breath through his nose only to end up gasping in pain as the broken appendage throbs in beat with his slow heart. “What do you want? You make a guy feel so unwelcomed when you leave him alone all the time.” It’s meant at a taunting joke, a way to get a rise out of Steve in order to make him stay _way_ over _there_ and go off in a rant.

            It doesn’t work.

            Steve brushes his fingers along Barry’s neck, curling them in the hair on the back of his head, and moves uncomfortably close to his face. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low. “I can make you feel more welcomed. ‘ can’t believe I waited this long.” And then he _kisses_ Barry.

            His whole body shudders in disgust and he tries to pull away, closing his eyes, but Steve just tightens his grip and turns his kiss _aggressive_. The older man’s teeth bite and pull at his bottom lip and he presses hard enough that their teeth clash together. Barry can’t help but whimper as the pain in his mouth increases tenfold. He goes from pulling away to trying to fight back, biting at the tongue sliding into his mouth hard enough he can feel the flesh rip and he tastes blood that’s not his. All Steve does is moan in response and Barry’s stomach curdles.

            Steve is breathing harshly through his nose, his free hand dragging heavy down Barry’s chest. He pauses to tweak a nipple through his shirt, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard nub. Barry whimpers again and tries to kick out, his head dizzy from the lack of oxygen, and Steve dodges easily enough, shifting to slot a leg between his and _presses_ up with his lower thigh.

            Barry sobs, then groans in pain and tries to stop the next one, but the sob bubbles up and tears through his broken nose that’s healing _so slowly_. Steve starts trailing kisses along his jaw and neck, freeing up Barry’s mouth so he starts gulping down breaths. His chest heaves and his throat burns, his vision blurs at the edges and he feels like he might pass out at any moment—he _wishes_ he could pass out at any moment. The other man works on sucking a hickey on his neck as his hand trails down further to track up under his shirt to his abs, tracing the muscles lovingly.

            “Steve,” he sobs, hating how terrible—how _weak—_ he sounds. “Stop, please.” He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter as Steve pulls away slightly only to lave his tongue on the deep bruise he made. “ _Please_.”

            The hand on the back of his neck lets go, but the leg and the other hand stay where they are. “Only because you asked so nicely.” He brings up both hands to frame Barry’s face. “Open your eyes.” He refuses silently and nails dig into his skin. “ _Open your eyes_. I don’t have to ask nicely. I didn’t get you into this situation, _you_ got _yourself_ into this.”

            Barry opens his eyes slowly, reluctantly. Steve greets him with a bright, nauseating smile, his mouth bloody. “There we go,” he says, brushing the pad of his thumb along Barry’s swollen bottom lip in such an intimate gesture he gags. “How was that?”

            He gapes at him in disbelief. He can _not_ be serious. “Awful,” he grinds out, and then yelps when Steve presses his thigh up against him harder.

            “Try again,” he snarls.

            “ _No.”_

            Steve smirks. “I don’t want to make this bad for you, Barry,” he’s back to that causal conversational tone. “I want this to be good.” Lies, all lies. He starts moving his leg in little circles, pressing tight against Barry still. “Be a little more cooperative, why don’t you?”

            It’s then Barry finally starts crying hot, ugly tears—he can’t move, he can’t think, he can only hang there in frozen horror as his stomach rolls and threatens to upheave. Nononononono. He doesn’t want this. _He doesn’t want this_. “Please.” Iris, Eddie, please. “Steve, please.”

            “You keep saying that word,” he murmurs lowly. “I’ll start taking it as verbal consent.”

            He sucks in a soul-rattling breath. “ _Stop.”_

            “Nope.” Steve pops the ‘p’ like this is some kind of joke. “Let’s do one last thing.” With his _thigh still fucking there holy fuck stop touching me,_ he shifts as if he’s reaching back for something. Barry feels his shirt being pulled away then a muffled _snip._

Barry’s eyes fly open to catch the rest of the cutting up the front of his shirt until it hang open, exposing his chest. Steve pulls the scissors away and lets a hand roam over his bare skin, practically shaking in excitement. He cuts the shirt at the shoulders; the three pieces fall away to the floor to leave Barry feeling completely and utterly exposed, vulnerable, naked despite the jeans still around his hips. He curls his toes against the cold ground, not-so-suddenly feeling oh-so-small.

            “Okay, not last.” Steve’s hands are at Barry’s belt, slipping the strap through the buckle and sliding it from his belt holes. He swallows thickly, his eyes burning from the tears. With one deft move he flicks the button of Barry’s jeans open, but just leaves them there, backing away and eyeing him critically. After a moment he smiles brightly. “Damn, Barry, you look _good_.”

            He doesn’t _feel_ good. If he weren’t strung up like this he would’ve puked a long time ago. He drops his head and sobs, the force causing him to shake and his shoulder creak in protest from being over his head and supporting his most of his weight for so long ( _almost two fucking days_ ). Steve pats his head like he’s some sort of pet.

            “I’m starving,” he says joyfully. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

            The door closes and the A/C kicks in again. Barry moans and wills himself to stop crying— _stop crying damnit_ , this is going to help get you out of this mess. He wants the warmth and strength of his powers, he wants to feel that spark in his core, that force that has his speed.

            He wants Iris and Eddie.

            _He wants to get the fuck out of here._

**xxi.**

Coffee appears in her line of vision and Iris startles violently. She swings out and almost catches Cisco in the chest. She jerks back, eyes open wide in horror. “Oh my God, I am so sorry, Cisco.”

            He shakes his head. “Don’t be, I almost did the same thing to Roy.” He grimaces. “That is not a fight that would’ve ended in my favor.” He wiggles the coffee. “Oliver did a coffee run, used Felicity’s gift card and Saira gave him a free cup because he’s _Oliver Queen.”_

Iris snorts out a half-hearted laugh, taking the coffee and sipping it slowly. “I brewed him a fresh pot when I first met him, made a big deal out of it. I completely understand the ‘he’s _Oliver Queen_ ’ thing.”

            Cisco sits down next to her. “Oh, dude, me too. I fangirl-ed over him _hard_. Especially when I found out he was the Arrow.” He leans back, taking a small drink from his cup. “I’m thinking about trying to convince Felicity that ‘Green Arrow’ has a nicer ring to it. If I can convince her and Laurel then they can convince Oliver.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’ve already got Laurel in on it. She has him as Green Arrow in her phone.”

            “Isn’t that against the vigilante code or something?” she points out.

            He shrugs. “Probably, but we’re going with it.” He sobers a bit. “We’ll find him, you know?”

            Her eyes prickle. “I know,” she says, setting her drink down heavily. “I _know._ It just…it’s been three days.” She covers her face with both hands. “I don’t know if I can do this. This might sound selfish, but I don’t want to see Barry broken.” She lets out a quiet sob. “He’s already been through _so much_ and I’m worried this is going to be the tipping point and I don’t want to see him like that. I don’t think I can handle it.”

            “Hey, hey,” he says softly. “That’s _not_ selfish. That’s human. No one wants to see Barry broken. _I_ don’t think I can handle it either. I don’t _want_ to handle it. He doesn’t deserve any of this.” She can feel him shift closer. “Did Barry tell you about the first time we met Captain Cold?” She nods, still not looking up. “He was so pissed at me, that I made this gun to stop him and didn’t keep it in a secure location and one our maintenance crewmembers stole it. It killed someone and he yelled at me. Second time I’d ever see him so angry without a metahuman influence.”

            “Where are you going with this?”

            He touches her shoulder lightly. “Where I’m going is that afterwards he made me go to the movies with him. I didn’t want to, I felt so guilty and so bad about everything, but he convinced me to go to a movie he definitely didn’t want to see but he knew no one else but me wanted to see it. He went with me.” His voice wobbles. “And followed me back to the lab like a lost puppy and just sat there with the Walking Dead on in the background, not saying anything, but basically telling me that it wasn’t my fault we make mistakes and we can forgive.”

            She looks up to see him crying. “Cisco.” It’s that moment that she realises he didn’t have a point to this, maybe he did, but he lost the plot and now he just made himself sad and angry that this is happening. She holds her arms open for a hug and they cling to each other tightly.

            “I’m sorry,” he says. “I think I made it worse.”

            Iris shakes her head silently. “Shh.”

            They stay like that for what seems like forever, or, at least, until they’re interrupted by Felicity shouting “ _I fucking have it!”_

Felicity kind of dims under everyone’s stares, but she straightens her back. “CCTV show Barry being taken five blocks from Jitters, the alley way called Garrick.” She points at her screen and both Eddie and Oliver lean over for a closer look. She waves them back and rolls over to another monitor. “And I found _this_ in the CCPD servers. Cisco—.”

            Cisco’s already heading over, Iris following close behind. He leans over Felicity’s shoulder, squinting. “Hey, I know that. It’s been secured hasn’t it?” She nods. “I taught Barry how to do that specific data block. He never told me what he wanted it for, but it was around the time we were helping Bette.” He and Caitlin exchange sad looks. “I don’t know what will crack it, though. You’re the computer expert, any ideas?”

            Felicity shrugs. “I don’t know. I recognize it too, it’s pretty rudimentary and I could find some loop holes, but I’d have to go through a few more firewalls in the CCPD’s servers themselves before I can access the files without corrupting anything.” She sighs in frustration.

            Iris frowns. “I don’t know how this works, but if I know Barry well enough… Is it a phrase?” She nods, eyes brightening. “Eddie, do you have your notebook?”

            Eddie looks confused, but takes out the little notebook. He watches her flip through it and when she looks back up she can see realization dawning. “Really?” There’s a grin on his face. “When was the last time the code was changed?”

            Felicity looks. “A few months ago, around January.”

            “Subject: Beautiful,” Iris says. “Example: Flowers.” She can feel the confused stares, but Eddie reaches over and tangles their fingers together.

            Her jaw drops, glasses sliding down a bit. “I got in,” she whispers. Felicity cracks her knuckles then winces. “Okay, bad idea.” But then she grins up at all of them. “I think we got them.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad touch.

 

**xxviii.**

“Your shoulders must hurt,” Steve muses, almost sounding thoughtful. “I figured it’d be harder to get a running start if your feet were barely touching the ground. Am I right?”

            Barry doesn’t answer him, his head bowed and eyes closed. He’s trembling all over, from the cold, from the lack of food, from the inability to sleep because every time he closes his eyes he _feels hands all over him_. Instead of all of that, he focuses on the sparks in the air. He’s learning, he’s slowly learning.

            He flinches when Steve pets his hair. “I bet you’ve been wondering about all of this,” he says. “You really were never subtle when you _raced_ out of the lab. I don’t know how you kept it a secret so well.” His fingers curl along Barry’s jaw. “I want to take you so hard, Barry,” he breathes out, excitement so barely contained that he can feel it in the vibrations in the air. “To be honest, I don’t know what’s stopping me.”

            Silence. Barry squeezes his eyes shut tighter, his whole body tensing. Maybe if he just focuses on the force in his chest, in the air then he won’t feel anything?

            Steve tugs on Barry’s belt loops, causing him to swing slightly. Then he’s pulling down his jeans, pressing his face against the inside of Barry’s lower thigh. Barry gasps, eyes flying open to look down at the kneeling man. He looks up through his eyelashes—trying to look coy? Seductive?—and grins.

            “Do you like that?” he asks, ignorant of, well, everything.

            Barry’s breathing jumps and stutters, turning from barely controlled to a fast hitching. It’s not the breathing of someone turned on, it’s the breathing of someone seconds away from a panic attack, but Steve doesn’t even notice.

            “Are you going to say stop?” Steve asks, smirking. “Or are you going to say please? Oh, do say please. I’d love to hear it from you again, especially now.” He moves up until he nosing Barry through his boxers.

            He whimpers and shakes his head, tears dripping down his cheeks. He closes his eyes once more to brace himself the best he can. He sobs as fingers dig into his hips, slipping under the elastic waistband. Barry curls his frozen toes and cocks back his foot, then waits a split second for Steve to shift closer before striking out fast and slamming his numb foot into his gut.

            Steve jerks back, coughing. Barry grins, feeling a small flicker of triumph. Four days he he’s still fighting. They don’t call him stubborn for nothing (though, not nearly as stubborn as Iris). Steve surges up, breathing harshly, and wraps a hand around Barry’s throat, squeezing hard enough that Barry immediately chokes for a breath and gets nothing.

            “You son of a bitch,” he snarls. “I’m trying to teach you something, _show_ you something, and you keep fighting back like a fucking brat.” He viciously shoves his hand down Barry’s boxers and grips him tightly, painfully.

            Barry tries to cry out, but that hand is still there, around his throat, cutting all air to his lungs. His eyes burn and tears fall uncontrollably. There’s going to be bruises there after this, his whole body is going to be marked for far longer than what he’s been use to this past year or so.

            Steve’s grip loosens ever-so-slightly, his thumb brushing along Barry’s jaw as he breathes shallowly not that he can. His hand is still down there, softer now—almost like he’s trying to be gentle. His nails dig deep into the skin on his neck, he presses closer, grinding on him, breathing low and heavy.

            It’s a known fact people with dicks have a tendency to get hard ons for no reason and during the worst times. It’s happened to Barry numerous times and he’s dealt with them when it’s happens, alone and mostly focusing on sensations than anything in particular. A biological factor that can happen even you don’t want them to, but it can also _not_ happen if that person is too malnourished, too traumatized for it to happen.

            Barry has never been happier for his metabolism than this moment now, even when four days feels like a month, he’s giving Steve nothing. He wonders if—his thoughts are cut off when Steve squeezes both hands simultaneously, moaning lowly.

            He bits his lip and closes his eyes; bring himself back into the speed force, searching for that lightning.

**xxix**

Eddie clenches his teeth together as he struggles to keep his eyes steadily on his paper work. Why does he have to be _here_ , of all places, when Barry is still missing? He glances up, meeting Joe’s eyes, and looks away again. Their expressions are mirrored—worry, panic, fear, and rage.

            There are people in this room, right now, who are responsible for Barry’s disappearance. Co-workers and thought-to-be friends—Eddie’s just itching to punch one of them, all of them in the face. He would rather just shoot them, but he knows both Iris and Barry would frown at that.

            He’s tempted to just get up and head into Singh’s office where Dig is putting on the act of FBI Agent looking into a/the disappearance, but it’s working too well for him to put a stop to it. Whispers are floating around and a good number of people are looking nervous—he really hopes that the dirty cops ( _that he knows the names of)_ run, he’d love to chase them.

            “Eddie,” Joe hisses in warning.

            He jerks his gaze from the glass window back to his paperwork, loosening his grip before he breaks his pen. There better be a call soon from _anyone_ or else punches are going to be thrown.

            “Eddie,” Iris says quietly before she puts a hand on his shoulder. He leans back into her touch as she wraps her arms around his chest and presses forward, creating a counter balance. She puts her mouth close to his ear and murmurs, “Felicity is still decoding the rest of Barry’s files. We’ve got two more names to the additional six we found yesterday. Still no sign as to if he investigated his stalker.”

            Whistling catches his attention and he glances to the foyer to see Steve Palmer walking into work, two hours late. He’s got his coffee in his hand and a bounce in his step. Eddie narrows his eyes, twisting his expression in disgust at the sight. The guy’s immediate boss is missing and he’s just…singing a song?

            “Hey,” Iris says, startling him from his thoughts. “I didn’t come to just give you an update.” She catches a free chair and drags it over with her foot. “You haven’t eaten breakfast this morning or dinner last night. I’m going to put this in front of you and you are going to eat it.” She starts unwrapping a sandwich and puts it all prim and proper on the file he’s skimming through.

            He gives her an amused smile. “What are you going to do if I don’t?” Who is he kidding? His stomach growled as soon as Iris said ‘hey.’ He doesn’t wait for an answer, he just picks up the sandwich and takes a big bite of it—stuffing his cheeks and making Iris giggle.

            A pained expression immediately falls on her face. He swallows and wipes his mouth before taking her hand. “Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t feel guilty for laughing. Barry would feel terrible if you didn’t laugh even once while he was gone.”

            She winces and then grins a little. “You make it sound like he’s on vacation or something.” She picks at a fry with her free hand. “You’re right, though, he likes it when people are happy, even people he dislikes or thinks dislikes him. Like Singh or Palmer.” She reaches over to pull the file from under his food. “You’re going to get mayo on this. I don’t—.” Her eyes widen and she gasps.

            “What’s wrong?” He wraps up his sandwich and shoves it aside to scoot closer. “What is it?”

            She’s flipping between one page and the next, her expression getting more and more horrified. She pulls the file closer, squinting. “No, really?” She goes from horrified to full-blown rage, her expression darkening to something dangerous. “That motherfucker!”

            Her shout is loud enough to pull the attention of everyone in the bullpen, Joe raises an eyebrow at her language, but she doesn’t even notice. Eddie’s heart is hammering in his chest, his palms sweaty. He jumps up from his chair as Iris starts storming off, taking a few deliberate steps before she’s running up the stairs. He goes after her, confused and worried.

            He’s a few steps behind her, so he loses her when she turns into the lab, but he makes it just in time to see her punch Steve so hard in the face he twists as he falls. Iris shoves her heel into his shoulder, making him roll over with a groan, and jams it into the center of his chest. He gasps, the wind knocked out of him.

            “Iris, what—?”

            She leans over low and hisses, soft and dangerous, “Where is he?” There’s no answer so she looks up to Eddie, eyes wide and shiny. “It’s his handwriting,” she says in a rush. “He’s the stalker. He wrote the evidence write up in your file.”

            Eddie’s stomach rolls and he presses his knuckle to his mouth. Oh God, how did he not notice that? He sees this man’s handwriting almost everyday, how did he not realise the stalker and Steve Palmer were the same person? He shakes the guilt away for now and immediately goes to her and Steve, rolling him on his stomach so he can plant a knee on his back and handcuff his wrists tighter than he should.

            “What is going on here?”

            He glances over to see Singh, Dig, and Joe at the doorway. “It’s Steve,” he says. “Iris figured it out. He’s been under our noses this whole time.” Joe swears loudly, probably feeling just as stupid as Eddie feels right now.

            _How did he fucking miss this?_

Steve chuckles under his breath, forcing Eddie to dig his knee into the small of his back. “ _Ouch_ , jerkass.” He twists his neck a bit to look up at Eddie sideways. “You wanna know why I was late today? You think your boy’s asexual. May have changed that.”

            His vision flashes blue, but before he can do anything someone’s hustling him off the fucking jackass. He struggles against whomever it is then realises it’s not going to work. Joe’s holding Iris back and Singh’s picking Steve off the ground by the back of his shirt, treating him not so kindly as he shoves him out the lab door. Dig waits a minute then lets him go and it takes everything in Eddie’s power not to charge after Steve Palmer.

            Iris doesn’t have that control. She’s yanking against her dad’s grip, glaring at the door, and muttering swears under her breath. There are a few French ones Barry taught her, German one’s Eddie taught, and Spanish ones she taught herself.

            “I swear to fucking God,” she hisses. “I will murder him if he doesn’t tell me where Barry is.” She pauses, almost thoughtfully. “No, on second thought, I’ll just straight up murder him.”

            Eddie approaches her, hands out like he’s going to catch her when Joe lets go. When he does she almost makes it past him before Eddie catches her around the waist and pulls her close. She struggles for a second before sagging against him, her voice thick when she asks:

            “How did we miss this? You, Barry, dad, you all work with him everyday and you never noticed his hand writing, never noticed if he was treating Barry differently than he would treat anyone else. What happened?”

            He presses his face into her hair, feeling tears sting his eyes. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I don’t fucking know.”

            The worst thing in the world: the feeling of guilt because you know that if you’d tried harder people wouldn’t be hurt right now.

            “Internal Affairs was called last night,” Dig says quietly. “Felicity’s been sending them the information Barry’s had in the servers and if Barry is up to it after we find him, the case is locked once he shows the DA the files personally. Palmer just basically confessed to his stalking and there’s cameras everywhere in here.”

            “Can I hit him again?” Iris asks.

            “I need a chance too,” Eddie points out.

            “No one is hitting anyone,” Joe says. “What we’re doing is we’re going to watch Singh interrogate Steve once the DA is here to personally witness it and then we’re going to save Barry when he gives us the address.”

            “He might not last that long,” Iris argues. “It’s been four days. We can’t guarantee Steve’s been feeding him and with his metabolism…” Her eyes widen in horror. “And you heard what he said about Barry being asexual.” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t work like that, but what if he—.” She puts her hand to her mouth and mumbles, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

            Eddie’s phone rings just at that moment and he’s tempted to ignore it before he realises it’s the ring tone Cisco programmed for Felicity (“ _It’s just a song. It’s just a song. It’s just a song. It’s just a song about Ping Pong!”)._ He almost drops it as he fumbles to get it out of his pocket fast enough. “What?”

            “I found him,” she says, crying. “Jitters was a fake out. Oliver and Roy are on their way to Keystone.” He hits speaker just in time for her to repeat, “I found him.”

“And we found the stalker.”

            “Oh _thank God.”_

**xxx.**

Roy has never been to Keystone before, or even to Central, and he wishes the circumstances were different. Instead of coming here with Thea or Felicity or even Laurel for a fun visit, hanging out with Barry and pestering him for his lack of visiting, he’s speeding along with Oliver with dread curled heavily in his stomach. Barry’s not dead, it’s not even a possibility, but he fears that the Barry they knew is gone. The letters, cards, pictures indicted a sick mind slowly losing his patience.     

            Four days may not seem like a long time, but a lot can happen in four days.

            They stop about a block from a warehouse Felicity has tracked the van to. This whole area seems to be a rundown area right next to a factory that had been shut down almost a decade ago.

            Roy doesn’t need to be told to keep quiet or to keep close to Oliver. There were almost twenty names that Felicity dug up, Eddie and Joe confirmed six of them were at the department and that left about ten unaccounted for. They could be at home or all ten could be in that warehouse. Oliver can take ten men down easily, but he’s still rattled when it comes to Barry ever since Barry completely brushed him aside a few months ago.

            “Go find Barry,” Oliver growls. “I’ll take care of the dirty cops. Get him and get out.”

            Roy nods and crouches low behind him as they creep into the warehouse. He can’t do anything until he makes sure the warehouse floor plans haven’t been changed since they were last uploaded into a mainframe. Felicity could only find a plan from five years ago.

            There’s a grunt of pain and the sound of several bodies hitting the floor. Roy’s eyebrows reach his hairline as they two of them hurry into the main area of the warehouse. It looks like they’ve been using it as a commons room, like it’s some man cave for pompous jackasses.

            Ten people lay sprawled on in different positions, some groaning in pain and others just out cold completely. Barry’s in the middle of the room, chest heaving and hands bound together. Sweat’s dripping down his face, cheeks shiny with tears. And he’s sparking, little flashes of light race up and down his body like when he’s running.

            But he’s not running this time.

            Oliver lowers his bow and calls out Barry’s name, soft and hesitant in a way Roy rarely hears. He puts his arrow back in his quiver and sets his own bow to the side, sitting it on a table, as he gets closer to the speedster. Barry hasn’t even acknowledge them with so much as a twitch, his gaze set on something Roy can’t see.

            “Barry,” he tries himself. Oliver’s a strong, protective presence to his back, on high alert for back up or anyone waking up. “Hey, it’s Roy and Oliver.”

            Barry shudders, his whole body vibrating, and he glances at them. Roy sucks in a breath at the lightning in his eyes, it’s sparks of power that’s completely overwhelming and it makes all the air rush out of his lungs at the sight. His right arm spasms, flickering like a bad connection.

            He moans in pain and sinks to his knees, folding his arms to his chest the best he can. Roy rushes forward and crouches in front of him, reaching out to touch before he thinks better of it. Barry looks absolutely terrible behind the bad connection. His nose is swollen and at an awkward angle, his right eye is puffy and bloody, his bottom lip is split in three different places, there’s the marks of a hand around his neck, and a large bruise that can only be a hickey there too. All he’s wearing is his boxers, and Roy can see enough of his legs to see bruises and a bloody bite mark on the inside of his thigh.

            He jerks back reluctantly and scrambles away to lose his breakfast in the shadows. Shame warms his face, but he can’t help it. He’s seen a lot on the streets before he became Arsenal, he’s seem the same image he just saw a second ago—but he never had to see it on someone he knows, someone he considers a close friend, a hero to look up to just as he looks up to Oliver.

            Oliver’s shoes crunch behind him and he glances around to see the older man crouch in front of Barry, mirroring Roy’s position from earlier. He pulls off his hood and slides his mask down to around his neck, his gaze stormy but his expression is soft, gentle.

            Through all of this, not once has Barry looked away from the nothingness just above and to the side of Oliver’s shoulder. His eyes are wide in what could be wonder or what could be terror, Roy can’t tell for sure. He doesn’t even flinch when Oliver waves a hand in front of his face.

            “Barry,” he calls, like the speedster is physically far away. “Barry, can you hear me? It’s Oliver and Roy.”

            Roy walks cautiously over, kneeling next to them. “Hey,” he says. “You got them. You’re safe now.” When he reaches out this time he actually puts his hand on Barry’s shoulder, feeling him flinch. “You’re safe now,” he repeats. “You beat them.”

            It’s like a statue coming to live, Barry suddenly gasps and lurches. His body solidifies, no longer fritzing, and his eyes dance around, seeing everything but not comprehending. He jerks back, scrambling and thrashing until he’s hit a couch.

            “Whoa! Whoa!” Roy stays back, feeling too much like he’ll be trapping a wild animal if he takes even a step. “Barry!”

            Oliver doesn’t see the wildness and takes a step, reaching out. Barry shoots to his feet, swinging out his arms in a blur that shouldn’t be possible if what they know is true. It catches Oliver in the chest, making him take a few stumbling steps back.         

            “Don’t touch me!” he shrieks, his voice hoarse and raspy, breaking at the end. “ _Don’t fucking touch me._ ”

            “Okay, we won’t,” Oliver says harshly, trying to catch his breath. “We won’t touch you, Barry. Calm down.”

            Barry shakes his head, his whole body trembling. His eyes are focused now, drifting from Oliver’s face to Roy’s. “Promise,” he demands in a whisper.

            “We promise,” Roy says. “We won’t touch you.” He presses his palms to his thighs in a show of intent and Barry almost relaxes. “We rode our motorcycles here, though. We’ll have to call someone to bring a car. It might take a while. Do you have a preference for who we call? Eddie and Iris?”

            Barry whimpers and nods his head frantically, his face twisting up in an expression of hope. His shoulders are curled up to his ears and his spine is bent down, like he’s trying to disappear inside himself.

            “Okay, I’ll call them,” Oliver says. He sends Roy a look of complete helplessness and Roy has to look away, unsure how to deal with that. “Is it okay if I call Dig, too? Something tells me Eddie and Iris won’t be able to drive in their panic and relief.”

            Barry hesitates, but he nods. He shakily goes to his knees again before swinging them out to sit on his ass. He pulls his knees to his chest and loops his arms around them the best he can with them still chained together. He looks so sad…so _broken_ sitting like that.

            “I’ll call,” he murmurs. “Me being here obviously isn’t working.” He sounds like it pains him to say that and it make Roy even more determined to find a away to fix this between him and Barry before it gets too much. “See if he’ll let you get close enough to unlock the chains and give him a blanket.”

            Roy nods, keeping his eyes on Barry as the older archer backs away to stand only slightly within earshot of them. He sits down on the ground right where he is and tries not to stare at Barry too much, he doesn’t need it.

            “You’d probably be more comfortable with those off,” Roy says, gesturing to Barry’s hands. The speedster follows his gaze, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I have a key.”

            Barry meets his eyes; relaxing enough from his locked position even Roy feels his limbs loosen, not realizing he’d been just as tense. _“Yes,”_ he says vehemently. He thrusts his arms out, but doesn’t move, forcing Roy to shift over.

            He hesitates, not wanting Barry to flinch away again. He reaches into his pocket for the key Iris forced from Steve Palmer and scoots forward on his ass, his hands out non-threateningly. Barry’s gaze drops to his hands, his eyes bright and shiny like he’s going to burst into tears in any moment. He flinches— _god damnit_ —when Roy takes his hands to hold them steady while he works the lock.

            “I would’ve gotten them off,” Barry says so quietly Roy almost missed it. “But I was too tired, _too weak.”_

Roy tightens his grip just a little bit so Barry will look up. When he does Roy says in the most earnest and firmest way he can: “You are _not_ weak. I don’t know what you went through, but I can guess. Someone who is weak can not, through the sheer force of will, bring back a superpower everyone is sure was actually gone. Wells and Caitlin told us about the limitations of your powers, you overcame them and knocked out the people keeping you here. That’s not weak.”

            Barry actually cracks a smile at that, it’s small and sad, but a smile. The locks click open and he’s rubbing his raw wrists. It’s another thing Roy has to force himself to look away from, they’re bleeding and blistered and bruised. He’s hard to put this Barry together with the bright young man he knows in the same place in his mind. He wonders if he’s ever be able to, if Barry will ever be able to, or if he’ll always be the extreme end with never healing enough to be in the middle, a whole figure.

            He wraps his arms around his stomach, moving so he’s sitting cross-legged and not so small. Roy swallows thickly.

            “Blanket?”

            Barry nods silently.

            Roy reaches back to pull one off the couch and he hands it to him just as silently. Barry takes it and swings it over his shoulders. There’s the faint sound of footsteps, Roy leans back to look at Oliver upside down. The other man isn’t even looking at him, his eyes on Barry.

            “They’re on their way here,” he says softly. “Iris and Eddie.”

            Barry closes his eyes slowly, his shoulders sagging. He puts a hand to his face and curls down, his shoulder shaking. Roy doesn’t have to even guess to know he’s crying.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For hedgi who never fails to make me smile (dude! Go read her Clowder of Chaos meta!kitties story!)
> 
> And also for acebarry whose infinite patience allows me to see the anons she gets about my stories and whose Westhallen headcanons drive me to both live and write.
> 
> This may be the last chapter, but this is not the end of the story.

The shower seems deafening in the vast silence of the building. Cisco leans against the wall, the steam behind him making his hair curl and cling to his face. He closes his eyes and listen—for what? He has no idea. Shouting? Crying? Swearing? He’s beginning to think any of those would be better than the suffocating quiet.

            When Dig had called to say they were on their way everyone in STAR Labs breathed out a sigh of relief. They were all smiles up until the man said ‘Heads up. It’s not good.’ Cisco sat there with building panic, his fingers on both hands numb from squeezing Caitlin and Felicity’s hands so tight. They watched the security cameras: Oliver and Roy pulling into the employee parking lot just ahead of Dig’s SUV. The military man exited the car to meet up with his teammates, leaving the Silver Trio of #TeamFlash (Cisco, Caitlin, and Barry are the Golden Trio _thankyouverymuch)_ behind him. Cisco instantly knew something was terribly wrong when Iris and Eddie stayed close to one another, but Barry kept a significant amount of distance between them, looking small.

            Cisco sighs. It feels even more wrong to be sitting here while Barry takes the hottest, longest shower known to man. It should be Iris and Eddie here, but Barry kept shying away from their touch and demanding a shower.

            _(“Shower.”_

_“What?”_

_“I_ need _a shower.”_

_“Bear, the evidence—.”_

            “No. _There’s nothing to catalogue. He didn’t—_ shower. _I need—_ ”)

            Eddie had quietly asked if Cisco could go with him. He’d been about to ask why when he caught sight of Iris clinging to her father, both of them crying, and Barry standing far, far away from the rest of them. He nodded, and tears slipped down Eddie’s cheeks. Cisco’s never realised how little he sees of them both despite their presence in Barry’s life until that moment, when he sees them finally let themselves come undone.

            Steve Palmer didn’t just fuck up Barry’s life, but all of his love ones’ lives.

            “Are you doing okay in there?” he calls. “We should really hook you up to an IV, get some food in you too. That’ll jumpstart your healing.” He waits, but there’s no answer. Worry bubbles. “Barry?”

            Silence.

            The worry grows even more. Barry has no history of suicide attempts (he’s peeked in his file), but he _does_ have a history of self-harm. Combine that with what’s happened…

            Cisco scrambles to his feet and dashes around the corner only to skid to a wet stop. Relief floods him when he sees Barry curled up in a ball under the never-ending spray. He’s still wearing the sweats Iris and Eddie had brought him, his sleeves rolled up. Then he notices his shaking shoulders and the way his nails are digging into his skin, enough so that Cisco swears he’s seeing red lining the nails.

            He ignores the scalding water and drops to his knees in front of his friend, reaching out then hesitating. “Barry,” he says softly. “You’re hurting yourself.” Barry shakes his head. Cisco forces as much light-heartedness into his voice as possible (which isn’t that much, to be honest) when he says, “Are you telling me you _aren’t_ hurting yourself? Uh, you’re a terrible liar, bro.”

            Barry digs his nails in deeper and then relaxes slightly. He looks up, his face pale behind the heat flush of his cheeks, his eyes are shiny, and his arms are a lobster red with tiny red crescent moons pressed into his skin. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispers.

            Cisco shifts so he’s sitting cross-legged in front of him, ignoring the gross feeling of water seeping into the butt of his jeans. “What do you mean?” He likes to think he and Barry are pretty close, and he hopes that will help Barry open up to him.

            He visibly struggles for a bit, the water going from hot to warm. “I don’t want anyone touching me,” he says quietly. “I just—every moment it feels like his hands are all over me and someone else touching me just makes it too much.” He squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly. “I hurt Iris and Eddie when I told them. I want to touch them so bad. Hug them, kiss them, but the thought of it makes me sick.” His hands climb up to his hair, his fingers curling into his scalp. From this angle Cisco can see the off-brown patches of old scars on his arms. “I don’t want to feel like this again,” he mutters.

            Cisco almost reaches out for him again before the light bulb blinks on and he realises, oh right, that’s a seriously bad idea. When Barry woke up from his coma, before they looked into the whole ‘super speed’ thing in depth, he had complained about heightened senses. Caitlin thought it was just hearing and sight, maybe a little taste, but it became very clear after Tony Woodward and Farooq Gibran that it’s also touch.

            But, wait, what did he mean by ‘again?’

            “Did you tell them that?” he asks. “Do they know about the whole heightened senses thing?” Barry nods. Okay, then… “What do you mean by ‘again?’” He’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

            Barry laughs bitterly. “Apparently when you try to tell people that you’re asexual they think it’s because you haven’t tried to the right dick yet, even more so if you’ve never done it before.” His breathing hitches. If he could get any smaller Cisco has no doubt he would. “My boyfriend my freshman year of college. Didn’t get anywhere past second base, but it really freaked me out.”

            “Oh shit, man.” And here we go, all over again, except ten times worse than that because roaming hands does not match up to…whatever Palmer did. Roy had told them all about the bite mark on his thigh. “You know Iris and Eddie will give you all the space you need, right?” He nods again.

            Cisco runs a hand through his hair, pushing the wet strands from his face. He’s not entirely sure what to do right now. Barry hadn’t even last half a minute before he was demanding the shower, probably hoping that boiling his skin would get rid of the ghost sensations, and he barely looked at Felicity or Caitlin or anyone else for that matter.

            “I don’t know if I can do this.”

            “Psht,” Cisco scoffs. “You’re the Flash, Barry Allen CSI extraordinaire. You’ve got this handled.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, it’ll be hard, but when is anything ever easy? You’ve got so many people here for you, ready to help you out when you _want_ it.”

            The smile he gets is wobbly and just a third of his normal smile, but Cisco counts that as a win anyway.

 

* * *

 

Iris tries not to fidget as Caitlin carefully sets up the IV in Barry’s arm. She wants to grab his hand and squeeze it tight with the idea that she’ll never let go ever, but she holds back. It’s weird and terrifying. She and Barry have been touchy-feely their entire lives and it got even worse when they started dating. It’s messed with a few of their relationships in their lives—Barry’s with Khalid and hers with Elizabeth—but she’s never been too upset about it.

            She grabs Eddie’s hand instead and he squeezes hers just as tight. Iris takes a deep, shuddering breath, she had her breakdown earlier and she can’t afford to have another one, not with Barry here and the guilt that she can’t be strong enough weighing her down.

            “Okay, that should help with the dehydration,” Caitlin says finally. She gives Barry a small smile and he barely returns it. “Let’s have that sit for a few hours and after you drink the smoothie Oliver’s out getting you then we can see how you feel about something a little more solid. Sound good?”

            He nods silently.

            God, he’s just so _quiet._

            Caitlin takes a deep breath and the tension in the room rises. Considering it’s already so high, she’s surprised it manages to get higher. “I won’t look at any of your injuries,” she says then raises a hand to stop any good feelings. “But I need to know _when_ you got the worse of them.” She brushes her fingers on her neck. “This one and the mark on your thigh.”

            Barry flinches. He shakes the sleeve of his new pair of sweats down and starts picking at his lip, revealing the small scabbed imprints from his nails. They’re already half the size than an hour ago, healing now that he’s body and mind have gotten the chance to relax and calm down. Iris wants to run a finger down them, her heart breaking. Months of appointments and tears when they were in high school and she thought he was finding a better emotional release than hurting himself. She might need to keep an eye on that as they move toward healing.

            “Barry,” Caitlin says gently. “I need you to tell me. It’s going to be a while before your immune kicks in with your healing still wonky.” Hearing the word ‘wonky’ coming from Caitlin Snow’s mouth is startling. “If the bite happened long enough ago for bacteria to settle in I’ll need to clean it out before it gets worse while your immune system is still low. I also need to make sure nothing was damaged when you were strangled. You may be able to talk all right, but I need to know if swallowing is okay.”

            He shakes his head, trembling. “Last night,” he croaks out miserably. “They b-both happened last night.” He crosses his arms, tucking both hands close to his chest. His eyes are averted to the ground and wet. “I wanna go home,” he mumbles.

            Iris moves a little closer, holding her breath in preparation for his flinch. When he doesn’t she smiles slightly. “You will,” Eddie says from her other side. They didn’t want to crowd him so Iris is in the middle. “In…” He trails off so Iris looks up to see Caitlin flash five fingers twice. “Ten hours,” he finishes. “We’ll be right here when you want us.”

            “And don’t worry,” she says. “We’ve been staying at Dad’s place. As soon as you’re up to it, we’re going apartment hunting.”

            “Oh God,” he says, his face paling then turning green. “I didn’t even think about that. I f-forgot.” He presses a hand to his mouth. “I’m so sorry, Eddie,” he says, words muffled.

            “Hey, hey,” Eddie says soothingly. “You don’t have to be sorry. It’s fine. It was getting a little tight in that apartment anyway. I wasn’t expecting to get in a relationship with one person, let alone two.” He reaches round her for him, but before he can even get a few inches Barry flinches and scrambles off the table.

            Barry freezes before he rips out the IV, standing stock still facing them. His eyes are wide in horror and _guilt_. She cannot for the life of her figure out why he looks so guilty.

            They’re all drowning in it.

            It’s something they’ll have to wait about for a few more days, maybe weeks.

            She scoots back to her original spot on the table and pats where he use to be sitting. “Come sit back down,” she urges softly. “It’s okay.”

            He scrubs angrily at his eyes, but does as she says. His hands clasped in his lap, his right foot curled over his left and both of them swinging in the air. Like a kid.

            Iris makes her smile a little wider, a little sadder. “So, smoothie, right?”

            The corner of his lip quirks up in response and she takes that as a small victory.

 

* * *

Eddie wakes up with a jerk, the world dark around him. He lays there for a minute before a gasping noise catches his attention. Iris groans from on top of him, shifting, but doesn’t wake up, her face tucked against his neck and one arm trapped between the couch and his side.

            He glances around, the sink’s overhead light from the kitchen just barely giving him enough to see with, and catches sight of a figure standing on the ledge of the upper level.

            “Barry?” His voice sounds loud in his ears, thick with sleep. He tries to sit up before he remembers Iris draped on him. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

            Barry shuffles down to the couch, kneeling so he’s eye level with Eddie. His eyes are bright in the darkness, kind of eerie. “Why aren’t you in Iris’ room?” he whispers. “I think that’d be more comfortable, wouldn’t it?”

            Eddie grimaces in lieu of shrugging. “It feels weird with just the two of us,” he admits. He doesn’t tell him they’ve bee sleeping on the couch for the past four days despite Joe’s attempts to get them into Barry’s old room—that’s even worse than sleeping in Iris’ room.

            A car passes by the house, lighting up the room for a brief few seconds. It’s enough to see the tears on his cheeks. Did he have a nightmare? Or, worse yet, did he even get a chance to sleep yet? Eddie doesn’t like how tired he looks, and Caitlin said it would take a few more days before he stopped looking so starved.

            Barry nods and doesn’t say a word, just keeps that pained expression on his face. Eddie shifts his arm so his hand is palm up, offering it if Barry chooses to take it.

            “What’s up?” He winces. Wow, that sounds so not comforting at all.

            He wipes his face and shakes his head, shifting a bit into a more comfortable position. “I don’t know what to do,” he says, miserably. He presses his fingers to the fleshy part of Eddie’s hand. “Tell me what to do,” he practically begs.

            Eddie slowly, carefully curls his fingers around his hand, tangling their fingers together loosely so Barry can pull away whenever he’d like. “You know I can’t do that,” he says and Barry sobs quietly. “I can’t tell you how to feel or what to do. If you can’t figure it out alone, then we can figure it out together.” He rubs his thumb over his knuckles, feeling his boyfriend tremble. “Just pick one thing to go with first.”

            Barry closes his eyes. “It’s too dark,” he says. “It was always dark unless s-someone was there.”

            “Okay, good start.” Eddie takes a deep breath and Iris grumbles. “Do you want to keep the light on and sleep alone or do you want the light off and me and Iris can at least sleep on the floor?”

            “I…” Barry takes his free hand and brushes it across Eddie’s forehead then down the bridge of his nose, it’s almost an absent gesture. Eddie’s sure he doesn’t even realise what he’s doing; he goes crossed eyed to keep track of it. “I…I don’t know. I can’t stop f-feeling his h-hands on me.” He sobs again. “I don’t want to feel that anymore, I don’t want to feel _his_ hands, but I don’t know if I can stomach you touching me?”

            Eddie’s heart clenches and he squeezes Barry’s hand a little tighter, but not too tight. “Me? I can stay on the couch and Iris can go upstairs with you.”

            “No, no. I can’t—.”

            “Don’t force yourself to do something that makes you uncomfortable,” Eddie says firmly. “It won’t break my heart if you are wary around me.” It will, but he can get over it, it’s not about him anyway. “Barry, it’ll take more than a day to be comfortable again, go slow.”

            Barry laughs, soft and short, but an actual laugh. “That’s probably the first time some one’s told me to ‘go slow’ in a _very_ long time.” He brings his free hand back and curls it against his chest, leaning forward to rest his head on the couch cushion. “And it’s not _you_ , I promise,” he says, muffled. “It’s _everything.”_

            Their hands are loose enough that Eddie can carefully detangle them without too much trouble. He hesitates for a second before he rests his hand open palm on top of Barry’s head, threading his fingers through his hair. Barry stiffens, his breath hitching, and, for a moment, Eddie thinks he may have just done the worst thing ever. He freezes right then and there, too afraid to move.

            It takes almost a full minute (he counts) before Barry relaxes. Eddie scratches his scalp just the way he likes it and is rewarded with a sigh of contentment. Eddie continues scratching even as his hand starts to cramp up and by that time Barry’s breathing heavily in soft snores. He doesn’t see how sleeping like that could be comfortable, but as long as he’s sleeping and as long as he feels safe enough to sleep, Eddie’s not really willing to move him.

            It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep as well.

 

* * *

 

Iris wakes up slowly, relishing the warmth of the sun on her back until the crick in her neck makes itself known. She groans quietly and presses her face further against Eddie’s neck, totally not ready to face how sore she’s going to be from sleeping on the couch for a fifth night in a row.

            She feels Eddie laughs softly, the rumble in his chest making her shake. She pokes him in the side, but that just makes him laugh harder. His hand presses against the small of her back and he kisses her temple.

            “Don’t freak out,” he murmurs. “Barry’s down here with us and he’s still asleep.”

            Her heart starts racing as she slowly moves her head so she’s facing the television. Sure enough, Barry’s sitting on the floor, clutching tightly at Eddie’s hand, and sleeping soundly with his face pressed awkwardly against the cushion.

            “When did he come down here?” she asks quietly, barely daring to breath.

            “’bout five. Make note that he doesn’t like being alone in the dark.” She nods against his chest. “I vote wake him up and make breakfast? Cait said plain pancakes would be okay.”

            Iris hums, unable to take her eyes off Barry. He looks so peaceful asleep. She wants to reach out and touch him, but holds herself back. “Plain as in no syrup or plain as in no chocolate chips?”

            “Both.”

            “Oh, he’s not going to like that.”

            Eddie chuckles. “His stomach will though. A smoothie and a plain burger don’t exactly do much for him.”

Iris reaches out and traces Barry’s cheek lightly. He twitches in his sleep and makes a soft noise that makes her heart flutter. “Barry,” she says. “It’s time to wake up.” He shifts, squeezing Eddie’s hand tighter. “Time to wake up,” she says a bit louder.

            Barry jerks slightly, his head coming up like he’s been shocked, eyes wide. There’s a soft glaze of fear making his eyes brighter, but it dies down to something sleepy. “Iris?” he mumbles. He groans. “God, what time is it?”

            “Noon,” Eddie offers. “I know, but you need to eat. We were thinking pancakes.”

            He scrubs his face, nodding. “That sounds great,” he says absently. “I’m, uh, going to take a shower. I’ll be back.” He scrambles to his feet and takes off up the stairs.

            Iris watches him go, a bad feeling settling in her stomach. “Did he say anything to you last night other than the alone in the dark thing?”

Eddie explains the night to her. There’s nothing new that she didn’t already assume or gleaned off him from yesterday. They stumble off the couch together, Iris groaning when her back cracks and pops like an old lady. He pulls her close for a kiss before they head to the kitchen. There’s a note on the fridge, reminding them that dad had to work today and that Caitlin wanted them at STAR Labs by four.

An hour later, pancakes made and a few eaten, they’re sitting at the table with Barry still upstairs. If she holds her breath and listens close enough she can hear the water still running. She sighs, resting her head on the table.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says. “I want to cuddle him so hard, but what Steve _did_ to him makes me scared I’ll hurt him. I want him to approach us first, like what he did last night with you.” And they don’t even know for sure what Steve did, or what the other cops did.

Eddie doesn’t reply and somehow that makes her feel better. The shower turns off and the upstairs floorboard creak as Barry goes from the bathroom to his room. She waits half an hour before it gets too much.

“I’m going upstairs.” She gets up to go, but Eddie grabs her wrist. “What?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says. “I think the showers are when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable.” She half wonders if this is a new version of his isolation quirk. Instead of hiding in a bathtub with loads of blankets and pillows he will actually take a shower. “I think it’d be a mistake approaching him.”

She hesitates and that seems to do the trick, because Eddie relaxes and she hears the stairs creak. Barry’s dressed in jeans and worn hoodie, his hair a wet mess. His cheeks are flushed with color. He still doesn’t look quite right, but it’s almost normal. Especially when he smiles and says:

“So, pancakes?”

            Iris smiles brightly at him as Eddie puts a small stack on a plate for him. There’s a bit of relief washing over her. Then the guilt, of course, she’s never going to get away from that. What was it before? They were all drowning in it? She knows Eddie’s guilt, and her dad’s. They feel guilty for never catching on to Steve sooner.

            She vaguely wonders if that’s part of Barry’s guilt too. Regret. He could’ve saved himself so much pain and torment and paranoia if he’d just paid attention to his tech’s handwriting. But the guilt, she has no idea where that stems from.

            Her guilt. God. Her guilt is from the fact she just wants everything to be _normal_. She feels like such a terrible person for thinking that, but she has no idea how to handle any of this or how to help Barry when he needs it most.

            Barry’s picking at his pancakes, eating only a few small bites every now and then. He’s on the other side of the table, his chin cradled in his hand and his gaze focused on his food.

            Eddie sighs. “Singh called yesterday while we were at STAR Labs, he’s thinking that Internal Affairs will want to pull people from other cities to help with the trial. He’s putting in a good will for Laurel to come down and help.”

            Barry’s head drops to the table. “Fuck. A trial. I forgot there’d have to be a trial.” His hands come up to his hair, tugging on the strands. “We’ll have to coordinate a story that doesn’t have to do with my speed or me being the Flash. _Fuck,_ what if S-Steve tells everyone?” His shoulders start shaking, his breathing becomes uneven.

            Iris reaches out without thinking. Her fingers brush the edge of his hand and he’s violently throwing himself back. The chair upheaves, clattering to the floor, and there’s a flash of lightning like he’s trying to run, but he doesn’t have the energy to get more than a split-second foot away.

            Before either of them can say anything Barry slams his fist into the pillar, a soft _crunch_ reverberating through the house. Iris holds her breath, _waiting_ , but when he doesn’t immediately react to his most assuredly broken hand she lets it out and tries _very_ hard not to cry.

            Eddie’s the one that approaches him. Slow and careful, his hands out as if to catch him if he falls. “Barry,” he calls softly.

            He shakes his head. His hand flexes, Iris swears she can hear the grind of bone against bone, and his whole body shudders. He carefully curls his hand, cradling it against his chest. “Is Team Arrow still here?” he asks, stiff, sharp, stilted.

            “Yeah,” Iris answers. “They’re suppose to meet us at STAR.” She pauses. “Barry—.”

            “No.”

            She blinks in surprise and tries again. “Barry—.”     

            _“No_.” He wraps his other arm around his middle. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to _forget._ I don’t want to deal with this. I don’t want _you_ to deal with this. Neither of you deserve this.”

            Iris frowns. “ _You_ don’t deserve this. No one does.”

            Eddie reaches out slowly. “Barry,” he says softly. “I’m going to touch your shoulder.” Barry doesn’t move at all, not even a flinch when Eddie touches him. He drags his fingers down their boyfriend’s arm, cupping his elbow.

            This time Iris moves forward, circling around so she’s facing him. It breaks her heart to see tears on his cheeks. She misses happy Barry. Sure, yeah, he had rough times, especially in high school and when he first moved in with them, but the happy far outweighed the sad. Now, though, it seems he can never catch a break.

            Taking a cue from Eddie, she warns him before she touches him. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, but doesn’t move when she touches his shoulders lightly. Eddie carefully presses a little closer, almost like they use to until this whole fiasco. Back when Linda would joke she had no idea where Eddie started and Barry ended.

            “You don’t deserve this,” she repeats, shuffling closer and curling her fingers on the crooks of his neck. He stiffens, his shoulders going into a hard line and his back straightening, but he doesn’t pull away. “And you probably have it in your head that distancing yourself from us will protect us from whatever you think we need protecting from, but I can tell you, I’m 99.5% sure that’s not going to work. Our best bet is to stick together, yeah?”

            He shudders and drops his forehead to her shoulder, forcing her to move her arms. “Every day,” he starts slowly. “Every day I thought about you guys and how much I wanted to see you, be with you again.” He sobs, trembling. His knees buckle and they both struggle to catch him, ease him to the floor. “I honestly thought it was never going to happen. I was so s-scared.”

            Iris runs her fingers through his hair, her arms curled over his shoulders. Eddie presses his forehead to the back of his neck, wrapping his arms around Barry’s middle. Barry’s face is pressed against the crook of her neck, his not broken hand clutching at her shirt.

            “You don’t have to be.” She presses a kiss to his hair. “Barry, we’ve got you. I promise. We’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part iii: _Let's Build Skyscrapers_
>
>> Eddie gets shot and some how his day manages to get worse even after that, 


End file.
